AuftJhoir's  Edlnftjiont,    limnfced  to  ®n<& 
copne«,   oiF  wSaklh   ftlhns  is   Ho. 


//     W'T*JW^*L*4^4M^ 


TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 


TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 


BY 
G.  FRANK  LYDSTON,  M.  D. 


BURTON  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

KANSAS  CITY  MISSOURI 
1921 


COPYRIGHT   1921   BY 

BUETON    PUBLISHING    COMPANY 

(DRAMATIC  AND  CINEMA  RIGHTS  RESERVED) 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  I 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  —  AN  UNCONSCIOUS  RIVAL   ....  11 

II  —  How  IT  ALL  BEGAN 22 

III  —  AN  UNSUCCESSFUL  CAST  ....  30 

IV  —  HENNESSY  BEGINS  LAYING  His  WIRES  40 
V  —  THE  FRAME-UP 54 

VI  — THE  STRIKE 70 

VII  —  TROUBLE  BEGINS  BREWING       ...  87 

VIII  —  TROUBLE  MAKER  AND  PEACE  MAKER  101 

IX  —  A  GUEST  OF  THE  COUNTY  ....  126 

X  —  CREATING  AN  ATMOSPHERE     .      .      .  138 

XI  —  LABORERS  WORTHY  OF  THEIR  HIRE      .  160 

XII  — SHORT  SHRIFT  174 


BOOK  II 

XIII  —  THE  NEW  DEAL 213 

XIV  —  HELL  ON  THE  HUDSON      ....  225 
XV  — THE  NEW  TRUSTY 241 

XVI  —  BEARDING  A  HOBBYIST  IN  His  LAIR      .  250 
XVII  —  A  REVELATION  AND  A  CALLER  WHO 

GETS  CALLED 271 

XVIII  — MR.  HENNESSY  GETS  ANOTHER  JOLT  292 


2040768 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX  — MORE  STAR  VISITORS  ....  304 

XX  —  THE  AWAKENING 326 

XXI  —  THE  GET-AWAY 336 

BOOK  III 

XXII  — THE  ARGONAUT 357 

XXIII  — THE  NEW  SCHOOL-MA'AM      .  .   .      .  380 

XXIV  —  INITIATING  A  TENDERFOOT      ...  392 
XXV  —  LUCK   STRIKES   THE   HOUSE   OF   Mc- 

GINNIS         .......  411 

XXVI  —  HORTON    HEARS    SOME    INTERESTING 

THINGS  AND  CENSORS  THE  PRESS      .  428 

XXVII  —  AT  THE  LITTLE  RED  SCHOOL  HOUSE  456 

XXVIII  —  SMITHERS  MAKES  A  TEN-STRIKE    .      .  490 

XXIX  —  SMITHERS  MAKES  A  NEAR-BULL'S-EYE  512 

XXX  —  AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER  531 


To  my  friend 
BRAND  WHITLOCK 

A  writer  not  only  of  remarkable  stories,  but  also  of 
great  messages  for  humanity's  weal,  and  one  of  the 
noblest  actors  in  the  most  terrible  tragedy  in  history, 
as  a  token  of  appreciation  of  the  man  and  his  work, 
in  memory  of  " White  Nights  in  Old  Bohemia,"  and 
in  tribute  to  those  friends  of  our  confident  youth 
who  have  passed  on,  this  volume  is  inscribed,  by 

THE  AUTHOR 


BOOK  I 


CHAPTER  I 

AN  UNCONSCIOUS  RIVAL 

Mr.  Hennessy  was  mad — mad  clear  through.  His 
mighty  shoulders  shook  with  rage,  and  the  poise  of 
his  bullet  head  and  beefy  neck  suggested  an  infuri- 
ated bull  preparing  to  charge.  He  literally  was 
frothing  at  the  mouth. 

One  who  knew  Hennessy 's  habits  might  have  sus- 
pected incipient  hydrophobia ;  the  river  was  close  by, 
and  limpid,  aqueous  fluids  were  particularly  abhor- 
rent to  him.  He  believed  in  the  external  application 
of  water,  it  is  true,  but  with  the  reservation  that  it 
should  not  be  used  prodigally,  indiscriminately,  nor 
too  often. 

In  this  connection  it  may  be  remarked  that  it  is 
a  matter  of  record  that,  while  a  member  of  the  New 
York  city  council,  the  Hon.  Mr.  Hennessy  had  de- 
feated an  appropriation  for  public  baths  on  the 
ground  that  it  was  dangerous  for  poor  people  to 
wet  themselves  all  over  in  winter,  and  that  in  sum- 
mer they  could  go  to  Cape  May,  or  to  Atlantic  City. 
He  did  not  mention  Coney  Island,  as  he  just  then 
was  in  a  mix-up  with  the  managers  of  the  various 
entertainments  offered  at  that  interesting  resort 
over  a  matter  of  license  renewals.  The  city  father 
had  ideas  of  his  own  as  to  the  price  at  which  certain 
things  should  be  "kissed  through"  at  the  City  Hall. 

But  it  was  not  the  detested  aqua-more-or-less-pura 


12  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

of  the  river  that  had  aroused  the  distinguished  cit- 
izen's wrath.  He  was  seeing  things — things  he  did 
not  like,  which  could  be  neither  bromided  away  nor 
eliminated  by  aperient  waters  and  Turkish  baths. 

Hennessy  was  not  handsome  at  best.  His  huge 
frame  had  become  flabby  from  lack  of  exercise  and 
padded  with  fat  which  he  would  have  been  far  better 
without.  His  wind  was  bad  and  his  movements 
sluggish — in  brief,  the  one-time  Bowery  " champ" 
was  out  of  condition.  Tradition  still  made  him  a 
"holy  terror"  in  a  saloon  brawl,  and  with  his  ob- 
vious prestige  added  to  that  tradition  it  was  not 
remarkable  that  he  was  still  cock  of  the  walk  in 
the  awed  and  select  circles  in  which  he  moved. 

With  those  whom  he  wished  to  impress,  Hen- 
nessy's  prestige  lost  nothing  by  sartorial  oversight. 
His  tailor  and  haberdasher  habitually  did  their 
worst.  From  his  silk  hat  to  his  patent  leather  shoes, 
there  was  no  discord  in  his  attire.  The  enormous 
solitaire-bedecked  expanse  of  loud-striped  shirt,  the 
flowing  tie  of  rainbow  hues  and  the  "horsey"  clothes 
with  their  rotund  lines  and  noisy  checks,  were  ab- 
solutely in  tune  with  the  man — and  his  trade. 

Time,  dissipation  and  full-fed  prosperity  had 
worked  havoc  with  what  little  facial  beauty  Hen- 
nessy once  might  have  had,  and  King  Alcohol,  most 
redoubtable  facial  artist  of  them  all,  had  without 
stint  laid  the  high  lights  on  the  great  man's  nose. 
His  eyes  had  retreated  between  puffy  sacs  that  once 
were  lids,  and  the  "tin  ears,"  which  he  had  acquired 
in  gruelling  ring  battles  in  his  earlier  years,  stood 
out  from  his  head  like  irregular  masses  of  cauli- 
flower that  someone  in  a  spirit  of  waggishness  had 
painted  a  variegated  blend  of  purple  and  red. 

Anger  did  not  improve  Hennessy 's  appearance, 


AN  UNCONSCIOUS  EIVAL  13 

and  when  to  his  livid  facial  expression  of  rage  that 
of  jealousy  was  added,  it  was  not  remarkable  that 
the  result  should  have  been  far  from  pleasing  or 
conducive  to  confidence.  Even  the  denizens  of  the 
Bowery  doubtless  would  have  found  it  somewhat 
fearsome. 

1  'So,  Maggie  Halloran!"  he  growled,  "that's  why 
you  turned  me  down,  eh?  You're  stuck  on  that 
damned  dude!  Well,  I  may  have  lost  out  in  the 
love  game,  but  I  '11  show  that  big  stiff  where  he  gets 
off  before  I  get  through  with  him.  If  I'm  not  to 
have  you,  you'll  not  be  for  the  likes  o'  him,  the  dirty 
buttinski.  I'll  teach  that  guy  better  than  to  monkey 
with  Tom  Hennessy  's  buzz-saw,  you  betcher  life ! ' ' 

Having  delivered  this  tyuculent  speech  to  the  un- 
responsive air,  Thomas,  alias  "Boss,"  alias  "Bull" 
Hennessy  stepped  out  from  behind  a  pile  of  heavy 
timbers  that  lay  beside  the  railroad  track,  near  the 
village  of  A  .  .  .,  from  which  point  of  vantage 
and  seclusion  he  had  been  gazing  at  a  couple  sitting 
on  a  little  fishing  pier  that  jutted  out  into  the  tran- 
quilly flowing  Hudson,  apparently  gazing  idly  at 
the  setting  sun  as  it  sank  in  its  golden  and  crimson 
glory  behind  the  emerald  Catskills. 

Pausing  just  long  enough  to  shake  his  ponderous 
fist  in  silent,  vicious  menace  at  the  unsuspecting 
subjects  of  his  espionage,  Hennessy  sullenly  wend- 
ed his  way  to  a  large  steamer  lying  at  the  wharf 
a  little  farther  up-stream.  He  scowlingly  went 
aboard,  was  obsequiously  greeted  by  the  captain  and 
every  official  of  the  boat  who  chanced  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  mighty  New  York  politician,  and 
disappeared  in  a  stateroom  de  luxe  off  the  main 
saloon. 

"Reckon  the  Boss  has  got  a  grouch  on,"  com- 


14  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

mented  one  of  the  freight-handlers,  who  were  busily 
engaged  in  hustling  a  mountain  of  barrels  and  boxes 
from  the  wharf  to  the  boat. 

11  Surest  thing  ye  know,  an'  the  Lord  help  the 
feller  that's  riled  him!"  replied  his  mate. 

"Ye  may  well  say  that,  Jimmy,"  returned  the 
other,  "Tom  Hennessy's  a  pretty  handy  man  in  a 
scrap— an'  a  lot  better  when  he  starts  after  ye 
with  his  gum  shoes  on.  He 's  bound  to  land  ye,  eith- 
er way — an'  he  gits  away  with  it,  too.  He's  got  a 
pull  like  one  o'  them  freight  engines  on  the  Central. 
He  tells  the  police  an'  the  judges  an'  juries  just 
where  they  git  off,  ye  kin  bet  on  that. ' ' 

The  two  rugged  freight-handlers  stood  gazing  in 
open-mouthed  admiration  after  Mr.  Hennessy  un- 
til he  had  slammed  shut  his  stateroom  door  with  an 
emphasis  that  bore  convincing  testimony  of  his  irri- 
table state  of  mind.  Even  then  they  probably  would 
have  continued  to  gaze  raptly  at  the  barrier  that 
concealed  their  hero,  had  not  the  captain  noted  their 
delinquency  and  floridly  cursed  them  back  to  earth 
and  to  work. 

An  hour  later  the  boat  was  on  its  way  down  the 
river  to  New  York,  bearing  Boss  Hennessy  and  his 
rage  to  surroundings  congenial  to  grouches,  where 
a  "peeve"  was  wont  to  grow  into  assault  and  bat- 
tery and  a  full-blown  grudge  oft  blossomed  into  mur- 
der— in  hot  or  cold  blood  as  occasion  might  demand. 

Hennessy  was  correct  enough  in  his  estimate  of 
his  own  chances  with  Maggie  Halloran,  and  had 
made  a  shrewd  and  by  no  means  illogical  guess  at  the 
chances  of  his  supposed  rival  in  winning  the  favor 
of  that  somewhat  flirtatious  young  woman. 

As  later  will  be  noted,  Miss  Halloran  is  not  the 


AN  UNCONSCIOUS  KIVAL  15 

heroine  of  this  story.  Her  only  excuse  for  appear- 
ing at  all  in  these  pages  is  that  she  afforded  Boss 
Hennessy  an  apparently  legitimate  cause  for  hatred 
of  the  hero — a  hatred  most  portentous  of  evil  for 
its  victim. 

Slight  causes — the  simplest  human  conditions — 
sometimes  set  in  motion  very  important  social  ma- 
chinery. If  Maggie  Halloran  had  not  been  a  co- 
quette— one  of  those  physically  virtuous  but  morally 
unstable  females  that  are  found  in  every  social 
sphere— this  story  never  would  have  been  written. 

Maggie  Halloran  was  the  daughter  of  John  Hal- 
loran, a  section  foreman  on  the  New  York  Central 
railroad,  who  was  handling  a  large  gang  of  laborers 
engaged  in  construction  work  at  A .  .  .  Her  moth- 
er long  since  had  passed  on  to  that  bourne  where, 
let  us  hope,  the  harder- working  wives  of  hard-work- 
ing Irishmen  who  earn  their  bread  by  the  sweat  of 
their  brows  in  the  employ  of  soulless  corporations, 
find  every  morning  in  their  celestial  homes  elegant 
spring  bonnets,  matinee  tickets,  bricks  of  ice-cream, 
and  other  good  things  denied  them  here  on  earth. 

At  the  age  of  twenty,  with  no  mother  to  guide  her 
and  hold  her  down  to  earth,  and  with  such  mis-edu- 
cation as  her  ambition  urged  her  to  seek  and  her 
father's  means  permitted  him  to  provide,  Maggie 
Halloran 's  tastes  and  aspirations  had  put  her  in 
something  of  a  class  by  herself  in  the  eyes  of  her 
father's  friends  and  associates.  A  persistent  de- 
vourer  of  yellow-backed  literature,  and  a  firm  believ- 
er in  the  theory  that  medieval  sleeping  beauties 
were  small  potatoes  compared  with  real,  up-to-date 
"live  ones"  in  the  matter  of  capturing  princes,  she 
had  "no  time"  for  the  hard-fisted,  sweaty  sons  of 
labor  with  whom  she  daily  came  in  contact.  Even 


16  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

union  cards  impressed  her  not.  Regarding  a  cer- 
tain "union"  in  which  the  applicants  strove  for  a 
life  job,  with  herself  as  co-worker — or  possibly  boss 
— she  had  views  of  her  own,  in  which  automobiles, 
fine  feathers  and  social  affairs  were  the  main  fea- 
tures. Needless  to  say,  her  day-dreams  had  no 
room  for  shovels,  mattocks,  sledges,  oaken  ties, 
spikes,  frogs,  switches,  fish-plates,  rails,  or  even  a 
"full  dinner-pail." 

Realizing  in  a  vague,  misty  sort  of  way  that  his 
daughter  and  himself  were  in  a  sense  out  of  harmony, 
John  Halloran  at  first  resented  her  assumption  of 
superiority  to  his  associates  as  being  somewhat  per- 
sonal to  himself,  but  finally  accepted  the  inevitable 
and  came  to  regard  Maggie  as  being  of  superior 
clay.  This  attitude,  as  may  be  imagined,  did  not 
add  to  his  popularity  with  the  horde  of  rough  and 
ready  admirers  who  worshipped  the  young  woman 
from  afar  and  would  have  come  nearer  had  occasion 
permitted. 

"A  man's  a  man  for  a*  that,"  sang  glorious  Bob- 
bie Burns,  and  when  an  honest,  hard-working  man 
seeks  his  mate,  the  immortal  poet's  sentiments  are 
likely  to  find  an  echo  in  the  toiler's  heart.  The  more 
primitive  the  heart,  the  louder  and  more  insistent 
the  echo. 

The  idea  of  the  unattainable,  rather  than  self- 
depreciation,  deters  the  homely  social  moth  from 
the  pursuit  of  the  butterfly.  Let  the  butterfly  offer 
the  slightest  encouragement,  and  see  how  quickly 
the  chase  begins,  which  chase  often  has  been  success- 
ful and  has  caused  much  trouble.  Primitive  sex 
instincts  may  lead  to  love  in  a  cottage,  but,  when 
poverty,  sickness  and  despair  come  into  the  door 


AN  UNCONSCIOUS  EIVAL  17 

of  that  cottage,  love  sometimes  leaves  by  way  of  the 
cellar  exit. 

Nothing  of  this,  however,  ever  entered  Maggie 
Halloran's  pretty  little  head.  Self-love  and  a  more 
or  less  hazy  ambition  for  social  position  were  so 
strong  in  her  that  philosophy  had  no  place  in  her 
cosmos.  As  for  doing  the  really  unconventional 
things  which  lead  to  moral  wreckage — well,  she  was 
a  good  Catholic,  and  even  the  veriest  skeptic,  if  he 
be  a  man  of  the  world,  knows  that  this  means  much. 

When  Boss  Hennessy,  who  was  a  near  neighbor 
of  John  Halloran's  and  political  king  of  his  home 
ward  in  New  York,  came  a-courting  his  daughter, 
the  honest  Irishman  was  extremely  flattered  and 
saw  visions  of  political,  business  and,  to  his  unin- 
structed  mind,  even  social  preferment,  through  an 
alliance  of  his  girl  with  the  Boss.  Hennessy,  as  the 
father  well  knew,  was  not  only  a  political  dictator, 
at  whose  imperious  nod  even  the  big  chiefs  of  Tam- 
many were  wont  to  fetch  and  carry,  but  also  was 
" solid"  with  the  railroads,  who  needed  and  did  not 
hesitate  to  use — at  a  price — political  influence  in 
Albany.  Being  solid  with  corporations  spells  wealth, 
hence  Boss  Hennessy  was  rich,  passing  rich,  and 
Hallpran  felt  that  a  wealthy  son-in-law  was  not 
a  thing  to  be  lightly  regarded.  Above  all,  he  had 
not  forgotten  that  it  was  to  Boss  Hennessy  that  he 
owed  his  own  position  with  the  Central,  for  good 
positions  were  scarce. 

A  little  knowledge  on  his  daughter's  part  was  a 
dangerous  thing  for  Halloran's  ambition,  as  that 
worthy  gentleman  soon  discovered.  Maggie  had 
views  of  her  own  as  to  the  difference  between  social 
tweedle-dee  and  tweedle-dum.  She  had  read  many 


18  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

accounts  of  young  ladies  who  had  captured  princes 
or  heroes,  none  of  whom  was  named  Tom,  or  Mike, 
or  anything  as  plebeian  as  these.  Claudes  and  Har- 
olds, Basils  and  Reginalds  there  were  a  plenty,  but 
not  a  single  "Tom"  in  all  the  lot.  Duverneys,  Von 
Waldens,  D'Artagnans  and  Feather  stonhaughs 
there  were  in  abundance,  but  in  all  her  reading  of 
chivalry  and  romance  there  appeared  not  one  Hen- 
nessy,  0 'Shaughnessy,  or  even  plain  Jones.  The 
Smiths  were  out  of  consideration  altogether,  for 
the  best  Captain  John  drew  was  a  squaw.  Maggie  was 
posted  on  "Who's  Who  in  New  York"  and  was 
willing  to  compromise  on  an  Astorbilt  or  a  Van  Der 
Gould,  but  a  Hennessy — never! 

When,  in  answer  to  the  paternal  suggestion  that 
Mr.  Hennessy  had  serious  intentions — which  inten- 
tions should  be  agreeable  and  flattering  to  the  Hal- 
lorans — Maggie  laid  her  own  ideas  before  her  father, 
he  stormed  and  raged  like  an  offended  bear,  but 
without  result  save  to  discover  that  his  daughter 
was  more  like  her  mother  than  he  ever  had  imagined. 
The  dear  departed  had  been  the  only  thing  on  earth 
that  "Fighting  Jack"  Halloran  ever  had  been  afraid 
to  face.  She  had  worn  the  trousers  for  the  family 
and,  to  Halloran's  astonishment,  when  the  occasion 
finally  arose,  his  daughter  donned  and  wore  them 
with  quite  as  much  determination  and  sureness  of 
action  as  had  her  mother  before  her. 

This  was  a  facer  for  Halloran,  but  he  made  the 
best  of  it  and  when  the  Boss  tentatively  broached  to 
him  his  hope  to  make  Maggie  Mrs.  Thomas  Hennessy, 
the  foreman  diplomatically  assured  him  that  he  was 
his  most  ardent  admirer  and  loyal  supporter,  but 
would  take  the  liberty  of  stating  that  the  girl  was 
"young  yet,"  full  of  impractical  ideas  and  "roman- 


AN  UNCONSCIOUS  EIVAL  19 

tic  humbug"  and  that  it  would  require  time  to  win 
her.  Meanwhile  the  Boss  should  be  patient,  relying 
on  solicitous  attentions  and  a  father's  influence  to 
win  the  point  which  was  so  dear  to  the  hearts  of 
both  men. 

"Above  all,  Mr.  Hennessy,"  he  advised,  " don't  be 
af ther  crowdin '  things  too  fast.  Maggie  is  a  girl  to 
be  led.  Ye  can't  drive  her — she's  her  mother's  very 
own." 

As  to  even  the  "leading"  of  Maggie  by  anybody, 
her  father  also  had  certain  ideas  of  his  own,  which 
he  discreetly  kept  to  himself,  feeling  confident  that 
if  the  wind  blew  in  the  wrong  direction  Maggie 
could  be  relied  upon  to  show  Mr.  Hennessy  the  way 
home  by  "the  straight  road  and  the  level,"  sans  cer- 
emonie. 

Maggie  Halloran  would  have  been  less  than  femi- 
ninely human,  had  she  not  taken  a  certain  pride  in 
dangling  Boss  Hennessy 's  scalp  at  her  belt.  Safe 
in  her  heart  of  hearts  lay  the  image  of  her  prince, 
which  a  Hennessy  never  could  shatter,  mar  nor  re- 
place. Retreating  behind  this  image  she  could  give 
the  Boss  his  conge  at  any  time,  if  the  ardor  of  his 
suit  or  the  exigencies  of  the  game  ever  should  make 
it  necessary  to  retire  him  from  the  field. 

To  Maggie's  other  admirers,  Hennessy  was  a  hero, 
aye,  a  demigod,  of  most  colossal  mould  and  irre- 
sistible to  the  female  heart.  To  her  girl  friends,  he 
was  a  prize  beyond  the  heart's  wildest  desire.  His 
attentions,  therefore,  served  to  give  heartaches  to 
other  suitors  and  keep  them  at  a  distance,  while^  as 
for  the  ambitious  ones  of  her  own  sex,  his  adoration 
lighted  in  their  own  souls  the  fires  of  envy  and 
jealousy. 

So,  meaning  nothing  at  all  and  absolutely  sure  of 


20  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

herself,  Maggie  Halloran  allowed  the  Boss  to 
pile  false  hope  upon  false  hope,  enduring  his  clove- 
and-alcohol  breath,  coarse  manners  and  worse  Eng- 
lish until — well,  until  the  real  hero  appeared  on  the 
scene.  It  was  then  that  Boss  Hennessy  received 
a  jar  that  blighted  his  hopes,  ended  his  romance, 
shook  his  self-conceit  to  its  very  core  and  aroused 
the  demon  that  lies  deep  down  in  the  souls  of  all 
primitive  men — and  Hennessy  was  primitive,  if  ever 
man  was. 

When  John  Halloran  went  up  the  river  with  his 
gang,  his  daughter  accompanied  him,  as  a  result  of 
which  Boss  Hennessy  suddenly  developed  an  all- 
absorbing  interest  in  railroad  construction  and  be- 
gan to  be  fashionable  in  the  matter  of  week-ends. 
The  village  of  A  ...  grew  very  attractive  to 
the  Boss  and  he  not  only  spent  his  Sundays  in  the 
dead-alive  little  burg,  but  became  addicted  to  unex- 
pected droppings-in  during  the  week,  much  to  the 
edification  of  his  many  near-rivals,  including  both 
those  whom  Maggie  left  behind  her  in  New  York 
and  her  silent  worshippers  among  her  father's  men. 

The  coquettish  Miss  Halloran  at  first  had  wel- 
comed Hennessy  as  a  relief  from  the  monotony  of 
life  in  A  ...  and  had  ruthlessly  gone  through 
the  motions  of  the  game  known  to  the  fair  sex  as 
"leading  him  on."  During  several  of  his  recent  vis- 
its to  his  charmer,  however,  the  Boss,  with  the  cun- 
ning of  one  to  whom  experience  has  brought  knowl- 
edge— or  at  least  distrust — of  the  fair  sex,  had 
noted  a  decided  change  in  the  young  woman's  de- 
meanor toward  him.  She  became  distant,  ill  at  ease 
in  his  society  and  negligent  of  the  histrionic  arts 
by  which  she  had  put  in  leading  strings  a  man  who 
was  almost  repellent  to  her,  and  whose  society  she 


AN  UNCONSCIOUS  RIVAL  21 

had  tolerated  as  much  for  policy  in  behalf  of  her 
father  as  for  the  gratification  of  her  own  coquettish 
inclinations  and  feminine  conceit. 

Believing  in  taking  the  figurative  bull  of  romance 
by  the  horns,  Hennessy  decided  to  ascertain  in  the 
most  direct  manner  possible  exactly  how  his  stock 
stood  in  Cupid's  market;  he  accordingly  proposed 
to  the  young  woman,  and  found  that  his  stock  was 
just  one  hundred  points  below  par,  being  promptly 
rejected. 

Knowing  the  variability  of  the  female  heart  and 
not  unmindful  that  the  rib  from  which  God  made  Eve 
was  a  "floating"  rib,  Hennessy  decided  to  stick 
around  a  while  and  take  a  chance  on  the  object  of 
his  affections  changing  her  mind.  Not  being  a  fool, 
but  in  general  a  shrewd  judge  of  human  nature  and 
not  less  conceited  than  other  men,  he  decided  to 
keep  his  weather  eye  open  for  a  possible  rival.  To 
his  mind  there  could  be  no  reason  for  any  woman 
resisting  his  charms  other  than  some  other  man 
who  knew  better  than  he  how  to  "put  it  over." 

The  Boss  could  not  be  on  the  ground  all  the  time, 
but  he  readily  found  agents  who  were — several  polit- 
ical henchmen  of  his  were  working  with  the  con- 
struction gang.  These  men  were  only  too  eager  to 
curry  favor  with  the  politician  by  acting  as  his  car- 
rier pigeons.  They  did  their  work  well,  and  their  re- 
ports should  have  been  conclusive  enough,  but  Hen- 
nessy was  ever  a  player  of  the  sure  thing,  so  he 
determined  to  investigate  for  himself.  A  mid-week 
trip  to  A  ...  and  a  half  hour's  quiet  personal 
sleuthing  were  sufficient  to  convince  him  that  his 
pigeons  had  brought  him  an  *  *  owre  true  tale. ' ' 


CHAPTER  II 

HOW    IT    ALL   BEGAN 

When  Robert  Parkyn  secured  a  position  as  assist- 
ant in  the  engineering  branch  of  the  construction  de- 
partment of  the  New  York  Central  Railroad,  he  felt 
that  he  had  reached  the  second  round  of  the  ladder 
on  which  he  hoped  to  climb  to  success.  The  first 
round  was  the  acquirement  of  a  good  education.  The 
son  of  a  poor  widow,  his  father  having  died  when 
the  boy  was  so  young  that  he  scarcely  remembered 
him,  he  had  been  compelled  to  make  his  own  way  in 
the  world  almost  from  infancy. 

His  mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  fine  old  Belgian- 
French  family,  as  impecunious  as  it  was  aristocratic. 
Artistic  in  temperament  and  naturally  industrious, 
she  had  learned  the  art  of  lace-making  from  an  old 
woman  servant  whom  her  parents  had  brought  with 
them  to  New  York. 

Faithful  old  Suzette  builded  wiser  than  either  she 
or  her  young  mistress  knew,  when  she  taught  young 
Louise  the  art  by  which  many  generations  of  the 
old  servitor's  family  had  made  an  honorable  living, 
for  when  Robert  Parkyn,  Senior,  died,  he  left  noth- 
ing but  debts  behind  him.  He  was  a  successful  law- 
yer, who  saw  even  greater  success  just  ahead,  and 
spent  his  money  as  fast  as  he  made  it.  He  loved 
his  wife  and  boy,  but,  like  many  others  who  love 
their  families,  he  forgot  that  the  world  did  not  love 
his  dear  ones  well  enough  to  protect  them  from  want, 


HOW  IT  ALL  BEGAN  23 

should  his  own  alert  mind  and  vigorous  body  ever 
fail  them. 

When  pneumonia  strikes  a  man  the  fell  disease 
does  not  inquire  as  to  life  insurance  policies, 
*  *  rainy-day  nest-eggs ' '  and  such  things.  The  miser- 
able infection  simply  grabs  him,  fills  up  his  lungs 
with  exudate,  chokes  off  his  wind,  impregnates  his 
blood  with  toxins,  gives  him  a  fever  that  clogs  his 
system  with  more  toxins,  paralyzes  his  heart  muscle 
with  the  vile  poisons  and  refuses  to  give  the  victim 
oxygen  with  which  to  combat  them.  Pneumonia 
tries  to  do  all  this  in  a  great  hurry — and  succeeds  in 
a  frightful  proportion  of  cases. 

Mr.  Parkyn  was  one  of  these  unfortunates  and, 
powerful  though  he  was,  he  had  no  time  to  put  up 
even  the  beginning  of  a  fight  for  his  life.  He  was 
dead  in  forty-eight  hours — dead  so  soon  that  his 
widow's  distress  was  an  odd  combination  of  grief, 
astonishment  and  skepticism.  That  her  big,  strong, 
kind  husband  was  no  more  was  to  her  incredible. 

The  funeral  over,  the  sense  of  heavy  responsibil- 
ity almost  overwhelmed  Mrs.  Parkyn,  but  through 
the  kind  ministrations  of  several  old  friends  of  the 
family,  she  finally  regained  her  equipoise  and  re- 
solved to  face  the  world  as  bravely  and  uncomplain- 
ingly as  she  could. 

At  the  suggestion  of  a  woman  friend  who  chanced 
to  know  of  her  accomplishment  in  the  art  of  lace- 
making,  the  widow  visited  one  of  the  large  New 
York  dry-goods  establishments  and  inquired  as  to 
the  possibility  of  securing  occupation  in  repairing 
valuable  laces.  She  was  overjoyed  to  learn,  not 
only  that  her  art  was  in  great  demand,  but  that  there 
practically  was  a  monopoly  in  lace-mending  awaiting 
a  genuine  artist  at  the  work. 


24  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Lace-mending  is  difficult  and  especially  trying  to 
the  eyes  and,  although  she  was  well  compensated 
for  her  labor,  there  was  a  limit  to  the  amount  that 
Mrs.  Parkyn  could  accomplish.  It  therefore  was  a 
great  relief  to  her  when  her  son  became  old  enough 
to  do  a  small  part  toward  the  family  up-keep.  It 
was  a  joy  also  for  the  mother  to  discover  that  young 
Robert  was  industrious  and  ambitious. 

Mr.  Parkyn  was  an  educated  man  and  his  wife  had 
an  education  far  above  that  of  the  average  cultured 
woman,  hence  it  was  not  strange  that  she  resolved 
that  her  son  should  have  advantages  at  least  equal 
to  those  which  his  parents  had  enjoyed.  A  degree 
for  her  son  from  his  father's  own  Alma  Mater, 
was  the  least  that  would  satisfy  the  mother.  The 
son's  own  ambition  heartily  endorsed  the  mother's 
plans.  By  the  most  frugal  economy  and  thrift  and 
almost  unbelievable  industry,  they  finally  saved 
enough  to  put  the  boy  through  Harvard. 

At  college  young  Parkyn  proved  a  most  exempla- 
ry student.  Not  only  was  he  at  times  well  up  to- 
ward the  head  of  his  classes,  but  he  was  the  crack 
all-round  athlete  of  the  school.  Even  today,  many 
a  Harvard  old-timer  will  recall  the  glorious  day 
when  "Bob"  Parkyn 's  wonderful  play  lowered  the 
Yale  colors  in  ignominious  defeat  and  sent  the  sons 
of  Eli  home  as  depleted  in  pocket  as  they  were 
broken  in  spirit. 

The  old  boxing  instructor  at  the  Harvard  gym 
was  wont  to  tell  until  the  day  of  Ms  death,  of  the 
time  that  Bob,  in  taking  a  lesson,  hit  the  veteran 
of  a  hundred  battles  a  wallop  that  put  him  down  and 
out.  Quoth  the  veteran  ex-champion : 

"That  lad  whipped  one  over  on  me  jaw  that  was 
a  free  ride  down  Queer  Street.  I'm  blowed  if  it 


HOW  IT  ALL  BEGAN  25 

didn't  take  two  pails  o'  ice  water  and  an  ounce  of 
ammonia  to  bring  me  back.  An'  don't  you  think  I 
was  easy,  son;  your  uncle  could  sure  go  some  in 
those  days!" — and  the  old  fellow  roared  with  mer- 
riment at  a  memory  of  which  the  average  man  would 
have  failed  to  see  the  humor. 

Although  inclining  toward  a  profession,  young 
Parkyn  had  no  taste  for  the  law  and  the  ministry 
did  not  appeal  to  him,  while  as  for  medicine,  it 
jarred  his  esthetic  sensibilities.  His  bent  was  me- 
chanical and  mathematical  rather  than  otherwise, 
hence  it  was  quite  natural  that  his  mind  should 
have  been  attracted  by  the  profession  of  engineer- 
ing. A  civil  engineer,  therefore,  he  resolved  to 
become. 

By  odd  jobs  of  work  outside  of  study  and  reci- 
tation hours  and  during  vacations,  the  ambitious 
young  fellow  managed  to  earn  money  to  pay  his 
way  through  the  Massachussets  Institute  of  Tech- 
nology, and  to  that  institution  he  went  soon  after 
his  graduation  from  Harvard. 

His  twenty-fourth  birthday  found  Robert  Parkyn 
back  in  New  York  ready  to  do  battle  for  fame  and 
fortune.  His  capital  inventoried  as  follows: 

ITEMS 

1.  One  clear,  alert  head,  full  of  ideas  and  ideals. 
(Some  of  the  ideas  were  impractical  moonshine.  The 
ideals  were  largely  rosy  "pipe  dreams.") 

2.  Eighteen  or  twenty  pounds,  more  or  less,  of 
good  rich  blood,  coursing  through  a  system  in  which 
not  a  grain  of  toxins  nor  a  single  pernicious  microbe 
lurked. 

3.  Six-feet-one  of  bone  and  sinew,  supporting  one 


26  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

hundred  and  ninety  pounds  of  solid  muscle,  trained 
to  the  minute  and  fit  as  a  fiddle. 

4.  A  clear  eye,  clean  morals  and  an  unweighted 
conscience. 

5.  One  million  gallons,  pounds  or  yards  of  ambi- 
tion. 

6.  One  Harvard  degree. 

7.  One  degree  from  the  Massachusetts  "Tech." 

8.  One  dear  old  mother,  worn  and  weary,  with 
eyes  dimmed  by  age  and  tedious,  trying  work. 

This  was  considerable  capital,  but  to  find  avenues 
of  investment  for  it  was  another  story.  Business 
men  are  not  hypnotized  by  college  degrees  and 
never  sit  up  nights  worrying  about  the  other  fel- 
low's ambitions. 

Some  people  might  not  regard  the  dear  old  moth- 
er as  an  asset.  The  experienced,  philosophic  ones 
will.  While  loving  her  loyally,  Bob  probably  did 
not  so  regard  her;  he  was  inexperienced  and  was 
not  a  philosopher.  He  did  not  know,  moreover, 
that  it  takes  a  whip  to  make  a  fellow  go.  If  there's 
any  whip  more  effective  for  the  right  kind  of  a  man 
than  a  helpless  old  mother,  it  is  not  yet  on  the  mar- 
ket. 

Of  the  various  assets  with  which  Parkyn  started 
out  on  his  upward  climb,  only  his  good  health  and 
muscle  appeared  to  be  marketable  and  even  for  them 
the  demand  was  by  no  means  constant.  Somebody, 
somewhere,  however,  most  of  the  time  needs  manual 
labor,  and  after  long,  persistent,  but  fruitless  effort 
to  dispose  of  his  knowledge  at  a  living  wage,  the 
young  man  was  compelled  to  market  his  ^muscular 
power  for  somewhat  less  than  a  decent  living  wage. 

He  had  begun  to  despair  of  ever  attaining  the 
second  round  of  the  ladder  which  he  felt  himself 


HOW  IT  ALL  BEGAN  27 

competent  and  was  so  ambitious  to  climb,  when  he 
secured  a  job  as  freight-handler  at  the  New  York 
Central  terminal  station.  Chance  now  did  for  him 
what  persistent  effort  had  failed  to  accomplish;  he 
attracted  the  attention  of  one  of  the  influential  of- 
ficials of  the  road  who,  recognizing  in  the  young 
man  superior  stuff,  and  learning  of  his  technical 
training,  secured  for  him  an  assistantship  in  the 
engineering  department. 

When,  several  months  later,  young  Parkyn  re- 
ceived an  appointment  to  the  superintendency  of 
the  construction  work  at  A  .  .  .,  he  was  de- 
lighted; it  was  his  first  responsible  assignment  and 
he  felt  that  much  depended  upon  it.  He  realized  that 
it  gave  him  the  very  opportunity  he  longed  for,  to 
show,  at  least  in  a  small  way,  the  technical  know- 
ledge with  which  he  hoped  to  win  his  way  to  success 
in  the  profession  of  his  choice.  If,  however,  the 
young  man  had  known  what  momentous  events  in 
his  life  were  destined  to  revolve  around  the  as- 
signment, he  would  not  have  been  so  enthusiastic 
in  its  acceptance.  But  the  fates  plan  our  lives  with- 
out consulting  us.  We  play  life 's  game  of  chess  on 
a  board  all  set  with  ready-made  pieces  and,  despite 
all  free-will  arguments,  there  are  those  who  believe 
that  we  cannot  alter  the  quality  of  even  a  pawn, 
and  that  an  invisible  but  invincible  hand  guides  ours 
in  every  move. 

It  was  with  a  light  heart  that  the  young  engineer 
boarded  the  up-river  steamer  for  A  ...  As  the 
boat  wheezed  and  nosed  its  way  up-stream,  Bob  for 
the  first  time  awoke  to  the  beauties  of  the  Hudson, 
and  discovered  in  himself  a  vein  of  romantic  senti- 
ment and  artistic  imagination  the  existence  of  which 


28  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

he  never  had  suspected.  The  foam  plowed  up  by 
the  no  longer  prosaic  steamer's  prow  sparkled  like 
jewels  in  the  sun  of  that  beautiful  spring  morning. 
The  various  pleasure  craft  were  wonderful  beetles, 
and  snowy-winged  butterflies  tinged  with  silver  and 
rose.  They  once  were  dingy,  man-made  things  of 
sombre  hues  and  grimy  sails,  but  in  the  sunlight  of 
that  bright  morning  they  were  transformed  into 
properties  from  Wonderland.  The  Palisades  were 
marvels  of  grandeur  and  stateliness.  It  seemed 
strange  to  him  that  he  never  before  had  noticed 
this.  He  had  seen  the  Palisades  dozens  of  times 
on  outing  trips. 

Up-river  lay  the  foot  of  the  rainbow  and  that 
mythical  pot  of  gold  of  which  even  men,  those  child- 
ren of  larger  growth,  are  wont  to  dream.  What 
magic  in  the  hopeful  heart  of  youth! — magic  that 
transmutes  base  metal  into  gold,  paints  the  world 
with  colors  to  its  liking  and  sees  the  topmost  round 
of  the  ladder  of  fame  as  soon  as  the  lowest  one  is 
pressed  by  the  confident,  because  inexperienced  foot. 

To  youth,  all  things  are  possible.  Success  is  at 
the  end  of  every  road,  it  matters  not  what  the  quest. 
Youth  has  but  to  reach  out  its  hand  and  grasp  both 
the  million  and  the  golden  girl.  It  was  an  old  gray- 
bearded  fake  philosopher  who,  mouthing  lies  and 
whistling  in  the  dark  to  keep  up  his  senile  courage, 
said  that  forty-five  was  the  "prime  of  life." 

Forty-five  the  prime  of  life?  Yes,  estimating  it 
as  the  connoisseur  does  cheese — as  "prime"  when 
it's  a  little  too  bad  to  eat  and  a  little  too  good  to 
throw  on  the  garbage  heap. 

When  Bob  Parkyn  landed  at  A  ...  he  was 
walking  on  air.  As  he  strode  up  to  the  little  hotel 
where  he  was  to  be  domiciled  for  several  months, 


HOW  IT  ALL  BEGAN  29 

he  glanced  appreciatively  at  the  mountains,  behind 
which  the  late  afternoon  sun  was  descending  like  a 
huge  red  ball  of  glowing  molten  copper,  threw  back 
his  sturdy  shoulders,  elevated  his  chin  just  a  trifle 
higher  than  was  habitual  with  him,  drew  in  deep 
breaths  of  the  balmy  spring  air,  glanced  at  the  in- 
different idlers  hanging  about — and  half  wondered 
why  the  arrival  of  the  future  President  of  the  New 
York  Central  should  cause  so  little  excitement  among 
the  towns-people.  He  did  not  get  an  accurate  sense 
of  his  own  proportions  until  the  next  morning,  when 
the  dream-president  of  the  road  stepped  down  and 
out,  and  plain  Mr.  Robert  Parkyn  assumed  his  de- 
cidedly unromantic  duties  as  superintendent  of  rail- 
road construction. 


CHAPTER  III 

AN  UNSUCCESSFUL  CAST 

Miss  Maggie  Halloran  was  an  exceedingly  wide- 
awake young  person.  She  had  a  keen  eye  for  human 
externals  and  an  instinctive  appreciation  of  the 
"real  thing"  in  masculinity  when  it  came  within 
range  of  her  perceptive  faculties.  These  faculties 
worked  with  great  rapidity,  and  at  dinner  on  the 
very  evening  of  his  arrival  at  A  .  .  .,  the  new 
superintendent  was  "sized  up"  and  marked  for  in- 
vestigation. 

The  stage  setting  for  a  romance  was  simple 
enough ;  the  Hallorans  boarded  at  the  little  inn  and 
as  the  female  Barkis,  Maggie,  was  willin',  the  rest 
was  easy. 

Bob  Parkyn  was  not  a  lady-killer,  nor  especially 
susceptible  to  the  lure  of  sex,  but  like  every  other 
young  man  who  chances  to  be  marooned  where  there 
is  but  one  really  attractive  girl,  from  whom  a  fel- 
low couldn't  get  away  if  he  would,  and  wouldn't  if 
he  could — this  regardless  of  whether  the  situation 
develops  more  than  a  passing  sentimental  interest 
in  the  fair  one — he  accepted  the  inevitable  and  nat- 
ural ;  consequently  Maggie  and  he  soon  became  very 
good  friends. 

The  young  woman  certainly  was  fair  to  gaze  upon, 
and  a  less  serious-minded  young  man  than  Parkyn 
probably  would  have  immediately  fallen  a  victim 


AN  UNSUCCESSFUL  CAST  31 

to  her  blandishments.  She  bore,  to  be  sure,  the 
unmistakable  stamp  of  the  ordinary  parvenue  who, 
by  virtue  of  a  smattering  of  education  and  a  well-de- 
veloped imitative  faculty,  has  to  a  certain  degree 
risen  above  the  social  status  to  which  she  was  born, 
but  this  was  more  than  offset  by  the  physical  endow- 
ments that  nature  had  lavished  upon  her.  Her 
wealth  of  raven-black  hair,  clear  brunette  complex- 
ion and  large,  luminous  gray  eyes,  with  their  long 
dark  lashes  that  looked  as  if  they  had  been  darkened 
by  the  touch  of  a  sooty  finger,  formed  an  aggrega- 
tion of  charms  which  is  unmistakably  characteristic 
of  a  certain  type  of  Irish  beauty.  To  these  attrac- 
tions were  added  a  lithe,  voluptuous  figure,  and  a 
piquancy  and  animation  that  were  Maggie  Hallor- 
an's  very  own. 

But  Bob  Parkyn  was  decidedly  on  another  job 
just  then,  and  while  not  averse  to  the  companion- 
ship of  the  little  Irish  lass — for  A  ...  was 
deadly  dull  after  working  hours — he  had  no  thought 
of  even  casual  gallantries,  while  as  for  anything 
more  serious,  Maggie  was  obviously  de  classe',  even 
if  our  hero  had  been  looking  for  matrimonial  trou- 
ble,— which  he  most  emphatically  was  not.  He  was 
far  from  being  a  snob,  but  anything  save  genuine 
culture  and  true  gentility  of  breeding  in  women  did 
not  appeal  to  him.  Maggie's  occasional  lapses  into 
slang  and  the  undeniable  flippancy  of  speech  in 
which  she  too  often  indulged,  alone  would  have  been 
sufficient  to  hold  in  check  any  serious  intentions  on 
his  part. 

Although  at  first  sight  he  instinctively  disliked 
Hennessy  and  subsequent  observation  merely  crys- 
tallized his  distaste  for  the  Boss,  that  important 
personage  was  not  an  appreciable  quantity  in  the 


32  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

young  engineer's  cosmos.  Haying  formed  an  ad- 
verse opinion  of  him,  he  had  given  him  no  further 
thought.  Neither  had  he  ever  been  interested  in 
Hennessy's  attitude  toward  either  Maggie  Halloran 
or  himself. 

Miss  Hallo  ran 's  dreams  of  princes  and  heroes 
ever  were  tinged  with  a  degree  of  commercial  practi- 
cality. She  knew  something  of  the  salaries  of  young 
railroad  superintendents  of  construction,  hence  she 
primarily  regarded  her  attempts  to  land  Bob  Parkyn 
as  by  way  of  a  flirtation  and  all  in  the  day's  work. 
She  found,  however,  that  the  young  man  was  a 
pretty  slow  proposition  and  the  new  experience  of 
being  the  hunter  instead  of  the  quarry  at  first  piqued 
and  then — with  the  fascination  of  the  not  easily 
attainable — aroused  in  her  bosom  the  belief  that  her 
prince  really  had  come.  As  was  to  have  been  ex- 
pected, her  interest  grew  warmer  as  the  object  of 
her  pursuit  seemed  more  oblivious  to  her  charms, 
and  the  inevitable  happened.  She  soon  fell  as  vio- 
lently in  love  with  the  young  superintendent  as  was 
possible  for  a  woman  with  her  regard  for  self-in- 
terest. 

Despairing  of  success  along  orthodox  lines  of 
courtship — in  which  woman  is  expected  to  be  merely 
a  passive  party — and  confident  that  Bob  was  obdur- 
ate merely  because  he  could  not  see  that  her  hither- 
to irresistible  charms  were  all  for  him,  the  young 
woman  finally  resolved  to  be  more  aggressive  than 
the  canons  of  good  taste  would  have  approved. 

But  desire  must  wait  upon  opportunity,  and  Par- 
kyn, blissfully  ignorant  of  the  situation  and  himself 
as  proper  and  open-minded  as  a  well  brought  up 
youth  should  be,  gave  the  young  woman  no  oppor- 
tunity to  lead  him  into  any  situation  in  which  sen- 


AN  UNSUCCESSFUL  CAST  33 

timent  might  have  been  given  play.  She  laid  all 
sorts  of  ingenious  traps  for  him,  but  without  suc- 
cess. Moonlight  boat  rides,  late  afternoon  strolls 
by  the  river,  tete  a  tetes  in  obscure  corners  of  the 
veranda  of  the  rambling  old  inn,  expressive  glances 
and  doleful  sighs  alike  missed  fire.  He  talked  on 
serious  subjects;  perversely  he  misinterpreted  his 
fair  companion's  tricks  of  the  eyes  as  expressions 
of  interest  in  his  various  topics  of  conversation — 
most  of  which,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  were  Greek 
to  her — whilst  her  sighs  merely  elicited  from  him 
solicitous  and  purely  friendly  inquiries  as  to  the 
state  of  her  health. 

On  the  evening  our  story  opens  and  Boss  Hennes- 
sy's  mind  was  so  perturbed,  Maggie  Halloran  had  her 
first  opportunity  to  talk  sentiment  with  Bob  Parkyn 
— an  opportunity  which  proved  to  be  barren  enough, 
for  he  responded  to  her  lead  by  bringing  in  a  third 
person  in  a  manner  that  effectually  blocked  all  furth- 
er assaults  by  her  upon  the  citadel  of  his  heart. 

Parkyn  was  sitting  on  the  veranda  of  the  hotel 
enjoying  a  quiet  after-dinner  pipe,  when  he  spied 
Maggie  on  the  little  fishing  pier,  apparently  idly 
throwing  bread  crumbs  to  the  hungry  small  fish, 
large  schools  of  which  were  playing  about  in-shore. 

A  wiser  one  than  the  young  engineer  at  once 
would  have  seen  that  the  lady  was  posing  for  his 
special  edification.  Even  he,  however,  noted  that 
she  was  very  graceful  and  that  her  every  movement, 
outlined  as  it  was  against  the  background  of  the 
river,  displayed  her  magnificent  figure  to  the  best 
advantage. 

Looking  up  as  if  casually,  she  called  to  him  and 
beckoned  him  to  join  her,  with  a  wave  of  her  hand  that 


34  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

appeared  artless  enough  to  the  uninitiated  young 
man,  but  in  which  a  more  worldly  individual  would 
have  detected  the  guile  displayed  since  the  world 
began,  by  every  daughter  of  Eve  who  hath  gone 
man-hunting. 

Parkyn  just  then  would  have  preferred  self- 
communion  in  the  silent  companionship  of  Lady 
Nicotine,  but  a  pretty  girl  was  calling  him  and  he 
perforce  was  compelled  to  do  her  bidding,  so  he 
leisurely  strolled  down  to  the  pier. 

The  couple  seated  themselves  on  a  mass  of  cordage, 
and  Maggie  proceeded  to  cast  her  hook  for  the  fish 
that  she  had  resolved  to  land  in  Cupid's  net.  Wheth- 
er the  young  woman's  adroitness  was  not  equal  to 
the  ardor  of  her  quest,  or  she  was  unskilled  in 
diverting  conversation  from  the  purely  intellectual 
topic  affected  by  Parkyn  into  the  realms  of  senti- 
ment, would  be  difficult  to  say,  but  whatever  the  ex- 
planation, her  efforts  met  with  poor  success  until  by 
a  happy  inspiration  she  alluded  to  an  elopement  in 
New  York  high  life,  an  account  of  which  she  had 
read  that  day  in  the  metropolitan  papers. 

"  I  suppose,  Mr.  Parkyn,"  she  ventured,  "that 
such  romantic  happenings  do  not  appeal  to  you  at 
all." 

"I  must  acknowledge  that  they  do  not,  Miss  Hal- 
loran — either  to  my  sympathy  or  understanding," 
he  replied,  indifferently. 

She  stabbed  aimlessly  with  her  parasol  at  the 
toe  of  one  of  her  dainty  white  slippers,  and  then 
looked  coyly  up  at  the  young  engineer  from  beneath 
her  huge  white  hat,  with  eyes  full  of  meaning  for 
one  who  could  or  would  see. 

"Is  it  because  you  haven't  had  experience  that 


AN  UNSUCCESSFUL  CAST  35 

you  can't  understand  nor  sympathize  with  lovers?" 
she  queried,  demurely. 

He  looked  at  her  somewhat  quizzically. 

"I  fear  that  must  be  the  explanation,  Miss  Hal- 
loran.  On  the  other  hand,  perhaps  I  have  been  too 
busy  to  sit  up  and  take  notice.  My  duties  always 
have  kept  me  in  the  treadmill  of  work,  and  I've 
not  yet  had  time  to  look  around. 

"Then  there's  another  reason  of  which  I  am  cer- 
tain," he  continued,  with  a  laugh.  "My  dear  old 
mother  would  raise  an  awful  row  if  she  ever  sus- 
pected that  she  had  a  rival." 

The  young  woman  evidently  was  not  gaining 
ground  and  began  to  fear  that  she  was  up  against 
a  stone  wall,  but,  gamely  enough,  continued  what 
bade  fair  to  be  a  losing  battle.  She  bit  her  lip  and 
with  difficulty  restrained  the  impulse  to  stamp  her 
foot  in  emphatic  relief  of  suppressed  emotions. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  never  were  in- 
terested in  any  woman  but  your  mother — that  you 
never  had  a  sweetheart  f ' ' 

"Not  since  I  courted  a  little  tow-headed  girl  with 
her  hair  in  braids  who  lived  next  door,  toted  her 
books  to  school  and  fought  the  other  boys  for  her 
smiles.  We  were  going  to  get  married  when  we 
grew  up,  but  our  tastes  evidently  changed.  She 
went  away  to  school,  I  went  to  Harvard,  and  we 
forgot  all  about  our  pledges.  She  finally  married 
a  rich  shoe  merchant  and  left  the  country,  that  is," 
he  laughed,  "she  went  to  live  in  New  Jersey,  while  I 
— well,  I  married  a  profession." 

There  were  tears  of  vexation  in  Maggie  Hallpran's 
eyes  as  she  looked  away  toward  the  mountains,  in 
pretended  unconcern. 


36  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Parkyn  noticed  the  young  woman's  emotion  and 
was  startled.  Like  a  flash  he  comprehended  her  at- 
titude and  cursed  his  own  stupidity  in  permitting 
matters  to  develop  as  he  had  done.  It  was  a  delicate 
and  critical  situation,  and  he  was  wise  enough  to 
realize  that  it  was  his  duty  to  convince  her,  as 
diplomatically  as  he  might,  but  once  and  for  all, 
that  the  case  was  absolutely  hopeless. 

Man's  instinct  of  self-preservation,  like  woman's 
intuition,  sometimes  is  a  useful  substitute  for  the 
judgment  that  experience  brings.  It  certainly  did 
yeoman  service  for  Bob  Parkyn  on  this  occasion — 
an  occasion  which,  no  matter  how  skilfully  and  suc- 
cessfully he  might  handle  the  affair,  was  likely  to  be 
embarrassing. 

"I  was  not  quite  frank  with  you,  Miss  Halloran, 
I  have  been  for  some  time  interested  in  a  young 
lady  but,"  and  he  laughed  merrily,  "I  never  have 
met  her,  and  don't  even  know  her  name." 

Miss  Maggie  immediately  lost  interest  in  the  scen- 
ery at  which  she  had  pretended  to  be  gazing,  and 
was  all  attention.  She  even  forgot  the  tears  she 
had  been  trying  to  conceal.  So  sudden  was  the 
interest  excited  in  her  bosom  that  she  instinctively 
lapsed  into  slang. 

"You've  never  met  her!  What  are  you  giving 
met" 

Although  wincing  at  her  slang,  Parkyn  was  quiet- 
ly amused  by  the  volume  of  skepticism  displayed  by 
the  young  woman's  vulgarism. 

"I  don't  wonder  that  you  are  skeptical,  but  the 
explanation  is  simple.  I  became  interested  in  the 
young  lady's  picture.  I  found  it  in  the  car  on  the 
elevated  one  morning.  It  was  a  fragment  of  a  maga- 
zine illustration.  Just  enough  of  the  descriptive 


AN  UNSUCCESSFUL  CAST  37 

matter  remained  to  show  that  she  had  written  some 
book  or  other,  which  just  then  was  attracting  the 
attention  of  the  public.  The  picture  interested  me 
so  strongly  that  I  preserved  it,  and  I  still  have  it." 

"Is  she  pretty?"  she  asked,  dolefully. 

"Very  beautiful.  But  you  shall  judge  for  your- 
self." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  card  case  and  from  it 
a  picture,  evidently  somewhat  the  worse  for  wear, 
and  handed  it  to  her.  Maggie  gazed  at  the  picture 
for  a  moment. 

"I  s'pose  you  are  in  love  with  her  by  now,"  she 
said,  returning  the  picture  with  a  brave  show  of  in- 
difference. 

"I'm  afraid  I  am — if  it  is  possible  to  love  a  wo- 
man whom  one  never  has  seen,"  he  replied  smilingly, 
as  he  placed  the  picture  in  the  case  and  returned  it 
to  his  pocket. 

"Why  haven't  you  looked  her  up?"  she  asked, 
turning  away  with  renewed  interest  in  the  scenery 
across  the  river. 

"I  have  not  yet  had  time  to  begin  the  search,  which 
very  likely  will  be  a  long  and  tedious  one.  There  are 
dozens  of  magazines  and  many  woman  authors.  I 
found  the  picture  just  before  I  came  here  and,  as 
you  are  aware,  my  present  job  and  location  are 
not  the  sort  that  give  a  fellow  much  time  for  ro- 
mancing, to  say  nothing  of  making  a  still  hunt  for 
mysterious  ladies." 

"Maybe  she's  already  married,"  said  the  young 
woman,  acidly. 

"Perhaps,"  he  replied,  soberly  and  with  no  sat- 
irical intent.  "That  kind  usually  are.  Some  other 
fellow  almost  invariably  sees  'em  first.  But  some 
day  I'm  going  to  find  out  whether  she  is  or  not, 


38  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

and  if  she  is — well,  I'll  still  have  the  picture  any- 
way, and  that's  all  I  shall  be  entitled  to.  If  she  is 
single  I  am  going  to  ascertain  whether  I  have  read 
her  pictured  face  correctly,  and  if  I  conclude  that  I 
have,  why,  I  am  going  to  try  my  best  to  convince  her 
that  I  'm  the  only  man  in  the  world.  She 's  the  girl  of 
my  dreams,  when  I  have  any — this  job  of  mine  makes 
a  fellow  sleep  too  soundly  for  much  dreaming — and 
when  I  find  her  I'm  going  to  see  if  I  can  play  the 
star  role  in  her  own  dreams. ' ' 

"You'd  better  get  busy,  then,"  she  returned  sar- 
castically, trying  with  poor  success  to  hide  a  sneer. 
1 '  Some  other  fellow  may  be  doing  some  dreaming — 
if  she  really  isn  't  married  already. ' ' 

"Possibly,"  he  answered,  gravely,  "but  I'll  not 
borrow  trouble  for,  after  all,  the  case  is  suggestive 
of  the  old  lady's  formula  for  making  chicken  soup. 
'First  catch  your  chicken/  " 

The  couple  sat  for  a  while  gazing  silently  toward 
the  river  and  the  mountains  beyond  the  farther  bank, 
when  the  young  woman  complained  that  the  air  was 
growing  chilly  and  suggested  returning  to  the  hotel. 

As  they  rose  to  go,  the  down-river  steamer  swept 
by,  freighted  with  numerous  things,  not  the  least 
of  which  was  'Boss'  Hennessy  and  his  grouch — and 
future  troubles  galore  for  our  young  friend,  Robert 
Parkyn. 

The  next  evening's  boat  took  Maggie  Halloran 
back  to  New  York.  She  had  informed  her  father 
that  she  wished  to  make  a  prolonged  visit  with 
relatives  in  Hoboken.  As  John  Halloran  was  under 
petticoat  government  and  the  "governor"  was  his 
daughter,  he  asked  no  questions,  but  took  her  de- 
parture as  a  matter  of  course. 


AN  UNSUCCESSFUL  CAST  39 

Here  endeth  the  role  of  Maggie  Halloran  in  the 
drama  which  will  be  enacted  in  these  pages.  Her 
part  -vras  but  a  small  one,  but  she  acted  quite  like 
what  the  chemists  call  a  catalytic  ferment — she  set 
things  going  with  a  vengeance,  but  herself  came 
out  unchanged  and  ready  to  make  more  trouble. 
Her  heart-ache,  if  she  really  experienced  one,  and 
her  "  peeve  " — which  is  more  to  the  point — probably 
lasted  at  least  until  she  arrived  at  her  destination, 
by  which  time  she  doubtless  was  ready  to  "buck 
up"  and,  like  a  female  Alexander,  seek  new  worlds 
to  conquer.  She  was  young,  not  quite  a  fool,  and 
there  were  plenty  of  fish  in  her  sea  of  dreams. 

Parkyn  understood,  and  he  heaved  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief when  the  steamer  that  bore  the  young  woman 
away  left  the  dock,  but  his  chief  consolation  was 
that  her  father,  for  whom  he  had  developed  a  warm 
regard,  evidently  had  no  suspicion  of  the  true  state 
of  affairs. 

As  the  boat  disappeared  from  sight  down  the 
river,  the  young  man  took  from  his  pocket  the  pic- 
ture he  had  shown  to  Maggie  Halloran  and  gazed  at 
it  long  and  earnestly.  He  scarcely  knew  why  he 
had  preserved  it.  He  never  had  been  much  given  to 
sentimentalizing — he  surely  could  not  be  really  in 
love  with  the  pictured  face  of  a  person  whom  he 
never  had  seen,  and  probably  never  would  see — and 
yet,  the  face  held  him.  The  clear,  intelligent  eye, 
the  beautiful  sensitive  mouth,  and  the  great  coils  of 
dark!  hair,  which  he  felt  sure  must  be  her  own — for 
they  matched  her  heavy,  exquisitely  arched  brows 
— attracted  him  most  powerfully.  And  then  he 
looked  intently  at  his  mother's  photograph,  that 
shared  with  the  other  picture  a  pocket  in  the  card- 
case.  Returning  both  pictures  to  the  receptacle  and 
stowing  it  away  in  his  pocket,  he  sighed  deeply. 


CHAPTER  IV 

HENNESSY  BEGINS  LAYING  HIS   WIRES 

When  Boss  Hennessy  needed  a  henchman  for 
shady  work,  he  never  was  compelled  to  waste  time 
in  the  quest.  He  always  knew  the  man  he  wanted 
for  the  particular  job,  and  had  only  to  pass  the  word 
along  the  line  by  "the  underground"  to  ascertain 
just  where  he  could  put  his  finger  on  him. 

The  human  rats  of  the  underworld  stood  not  on 
the  order  of  their  going  when  Hennessy  called  them. 
He  merely  had  to  designate  the  time  and  place  and 
his  man  was  there  "on  the  dot."  On  this  occasion, 
however,  for  obvious  reasons  it  suited  the  Boss' 
pleasure  to  go  to  his  man,  after  he  had  quietly 
located  him.  The  tool  he  just  then  especially  want- 
ed was  employed  in  an  establishment  which  the 
old-timers  of  New  York  will  recall  as  worthy  of 
more  than  passing  mention. 

In  its  day,  Harry  Hill's  resort  at  Houston  and 
Crosby  streets,  in  lower  New  York,  probably  was 
the  most  notorious  and  most  cosmopolitan  "joint" 
in  the  metropolis.  Merely  to  visit  it  savored  of  ad- 
venture. No  full-blooded  sight-seer  of  the  male 
persuasion  ever  visited  the  city  without  taking  in 
this  famous  resort.  Even  some  of  the  venturesome, 
yet  respectable,  members  of  the  fair  sex  could  be 
seen  almost  nightly  at  Hill's,  in  half -frightened 
quest  of  the  stolen  fruit  of  novelty  and  excitement. 
The  stage  entertainment  offered  was  varied  enough 


HENNESSY  LAYS  HIS  WIRES  41 

to  suit  everybody,  from  the  most  fastidious  to  the 
toughest  of  the  tough.  Variety  acts — the  forerunner 
of  the  modern  cabaret — limited-round  prize-fights, 
the  can-can,  selections  by  broken-down  operatic  ar- 
tists— everything  was  on  the  card,  from  pretended 
moral-uplift  stunts  to  moral-degradation  specials. 

Music  was  as  essential  as  liquor  to  the  pleasure  of 
Hill's  patrons,  but  volume  and  explosiveness  were 
its  dominant  characteristics.  The  raucous  blare  of 
the  metals  and  the  clash  of  drum  and  cymbal  pleased 
the  ear  of  the  audience  better  than  did  the  softer 
tones  of  the  strings.  As  to  the  artistic  quality  of  the 
selections,  the  less  said  the  better.  Art  and  esthet- 
ics ever  have  been  sacrificed  to  sensualism  in  the 
Tenderloin. 

In  front  of  the  stage  was  a  railed-in  enclosure 
devoted  to  Terpischore,  gayest  and  most  wanton  of 
the  muses.  Here,  between  acts,  those  of  the  audi- 
ence who  wished  to  dance  were  permitted  to  do  so 
without  stint,  audible  criticism,  or  any  regulation 
whatsoever  as  to  the  kind  of  dance  indulged  in — 
provided  it  were  decorous. 

And  dance!  The  dancing  masters  of  the  upper- 
world  might  have  learned  much  of  grace  and  tech- 
nique from  the  " molls,"  red-light  " ladies"  and 
Bowery  toughs  who  appeared  in  the  dancing  square 
at  Harry  Hill's — and  some  of  the  society  leaders  of 
today  who  affect  the  tango,  the  turkey  trot  and  the 
grizzly  bear  might  have  learned  something  of  sex- 
decorum  from  them. 

Mr.  Hill  made  a  special  and  strenuous  point  of 
outward  observance  of  etiquette  on  his  public  danc- 
ing floor,  which  sometimes  deceived  the  uninitiated 
as  to  the  character  of  his  business  and  a  large  part 
of  his  patronage. 


42  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

The  house  official  "heelers"  ever  were  on  the 
alert  for  persons  who  indulged  in  "ungentlemanly" 
or  "unladylike"  conduct.  When  a  "lady"  grew 
boisterous  or  too  demonstrative  in  her  fake  affec- 
tion for  some  bibulous  dupe,  she  was  quietly  called 
down.  Male  offenders  against  the  house  rules  were 
firmly  and  by  no  means  gently  led  to  the  door  and 
deposited  in  the  gutter.  If  the  party  thus  expelled 
was  not  a  gangster,  or  a  "friend  of  the  house,"  but 
chanced  to  be  a  visitor  worth  the  picking,  the  Lord 
help  him!  He  was  "rolled"  en  route,  and  landed 
in  the  gutter  minus  his  watch,  wallet  and  any  jewelry 
which  he  might  be  foolish  enough  to  be  carrying 
about  with  him.  Just  by  way  of  emphasizing  the 
protest  of  the  house  against  rowdyism,  the  party 
thus  unceremoniously  kicked  out  was  so  thoroughly 
beaten  up  that  a  sojourn  in  Bellevue  or  Chambers 
Street  Emergency  Hospital  usually  was  a  painful 
necessity. 

Not  only  did  this  summary  method  of  dealing  with 
refractory  customers  assist  in  the  up-keep  of  Harry 
Hill's  reputation  for  orderliness,  but  it  served  to 
aid  the  official  "bouncer"  in  keeping  his  hand  in. 
As  the  stalwarts  employed  by  Mr.  Hill  were  either 
professional  manhandlers  and  thugs,  or  ex-prize 
fighters,  gentle  exercise  with  fist  and  foot  on  the  hu- 
man body  was  necessary  to  health,  proper  muscular 
tone  and  that  cheerfulness  of  disposition  which  is  so 
essential  to  a  really  enthusiastic  bouncer. 

The  police  and  magistrates  were  in  perfect  sym- 
pathy with  the  proprietor's  conception  of  an  orderly 
place  of  entertainment  and  were  wont  to  heavily 
fine  injured  parties  who  escaped  the  hospital,  only 
to  land  in  the  police  station,  thus  ably  seconding 
Mr.  Hill's  laudable  ambition  to  run  the  most  respect- 


HENNESSY  LAYS  HIS  WIRES  43 

able,  though  democratic,  and  most  popular  "club" 
on  Manhattan  Island,  or  anywhere  in  the  vicinity 
thereof. 

Over  all  hung  that  subtle,  insidious,  poisonous 
miasm  of  vice  which  marred  one's  very  soul,  and  the 
taint  of  which  none  might  escape  after  breathing  it. 

Nowhere  in  New  York  could  such  a  variety  of 
human  elements  be  found  gathered  together  as  at 
Harry  Hill's.  Blase  young  bloods  from  upper-ten- 
dom  touched  elbows  with  immature  gawks  from  the 
rural  districts,  and  staid  metropolitan  business  men 
rubbed  against  long- whiskered  "rubes"  from  the 
country.  Sailors  who  had  come  off  ship  resolved 
to  have  a  lark,  brawny  longshore-men  and  profes- 
sional "pugs"  sat  at  the  little  tables  about  the  room, 
vis  a  vis  with  pale-faced  brokers'  clerks  and  shop 
salesmen.  Commercial  drummers,  killing  time  and 
their  own  health  and  morals,  with  an  occasional  sol- 
dier on  furlough  from  Governor's  Island,  hobnobbed 
with  light-fingered  dips,  flashily  dressed  gamblers 
and  pot-bellied  politicians.  Professional  thugs  con- 
men,  strong-arm  men,  yeggs,  gangsters,  and  gun- 
men— to  whom  robbery  was  a  pastime  and  murder 
a  diversion,  or  even  a  profession — all  were  there 
making  merry. 

Here  and  there  in  the  crowd  could  be  seen  a  few 
women  of  undoubted  respectability,  under  the  escort 
of  men  who  looked  as  ill-at-ease  as  their  female  com- 
panions did  brazen.  The  fair  ones  obviously  were 
trying  to  adapt  themselves  to  their  surroundings 
and  do  as  did  the  Romans. 

Then  there  were  a  few  forlorn-looking  little  shop 
girls,  not  yet  lost;  poor  little  moths,  fluttering 
around  the  candle  of  vice,  which  was  destined  ere 
long  to  scorch  their  feeble  wings  and  drop  them 


44  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

into  the  vile  stew  of  the  underworld,  never  to  rise 
again. 

Mingled  with  the  crowd  at  the  tables  that  lined 
the  sides  of  the  room,  might  be  seen  a  number  of 
tawdry  chorus  girls,  "gold  digging"  after  the  show, 
and  dozens  of  women  from  the  tenderloin.  White 
slaves,  many  of  them — harpies,  all.  Some  of  these 
poor  creatures  were  " molls" — consorts  and  stool- 
pigeons  of  professional  thieves.  Others  themselves 
were  thieves  of  the  most  dangerous  and  clever  sort. 

Even  those  among  these  women  who  were  working 
a  "graft"  of  their  own,  also  were  working  for  the 
"house"  on  commission.  They  quietly  forced  them- 
selves on  the  male  patrons  of  the  place  and  induced 
them  to  treat  to  drinks  at  exorbitant  prices.  The 
women  usually  drank  colored  water.  The  com- 
mission on  this  was  higher  than  on  the  real  stuff 
and  drunkenness  was  not  conducive  to  success  in 
the  efforts  of  the  women  to  work  their  individual 
graft. 

The  illustrious  Mr.  Hill  probably  would  have  re- 
sented the  assertion  that  his  resort  was  a  "speak 
easy,"  but  nevertheless  that  is  precisely  what  it  was, 
the  women  who  plied  their  trade  in  the  place  having 
a  business  understanding  and  arrangement  with  the 
house,  either  on  their  own  account  or  that  of  the 
cadets  and  white  slavers  who  owned  them,  soul  and 
body. 

From  time  to  time  some  painted  Circe  led  her 
victim  from  the  hall  to  her  lair  in  the  neighboring 
tenderloin  to  be  despoiled  of  his  valuables  by  the 
panel  game  or  by  open  violence. 

The  evil  wrought  by  these  poor  unfortunate  wo- 
men stopped  not  with  their  immediate  victims.  Of- 
ten they  infected  their  patrons  with  foul  and  loath- 


HENNESSY  LAYS  HIS  WIRES  45 

some  disease,  which  they  in  turn  carried  to  decent 
female  kind  to  ruin  their  health,  wreck  their  lives 
and  blight,  destroy  or  blind  their  posterity. 

A  grim  revenge  this,  which  the  scarlet  woman  ever 
has  inflicted  upon  the  society  that  has  cast  her  out, 
and  upon  the  sex  that  has  pulled  her  down,  enslaved 
her  body  and  corrupted  her  soul — a  revenge  still 
more  terrible  upon  her  sisters  of  the  order  of  purity 
and  higher  social  standing,  who  are  wont  to  gather 
their  immaculate  skirts  about  them,  shrink  as  from 
a  leper,  and  pass  by  on  the  other  side  when  they  meet 
upon  the  street  the  woman  of  the  underworld. 

The  "gon-molls" — professional  female  ''dips" — 
did  their  work  upon  the  spot,  so  cleverly  that  rarely 
was  there  any  "squealing"  on  the  victim's  part  with 
the  resultant  necessity  for  a  hypocritic  howl  by  the 
management. 

The  dexterity  of  these  women  was  almost  incredi- 
ble. A  man's  wallet  often  would  be  taken  from  his 
pocket  by  one  of  them,  his  roll  extracted  and  re- 
placed by  a  wad  of  paper  wrapped  in  a  single  re- 
maining bill  and  the  wallet  returned  to  his  pocket 
without  detection. 

The  women  usually  worked  in  pairs,  the  wallet 
with  its  entire  contents,  or  the  money  alone,  being 
passed  to  a  confederate,  who,  under  pretext  of  re- 
tiring for  a  moment,  disappeared  and  never  came 
back.  Diamonds,  or  other  jewelry,  and  watches  went 
the  same  road. 

The  * '  police, ' '  say  you  f  Don 't  waste  time  discuss- 
ing the  police.  Mr.  Hill  ran  a  "respectable"  resort 
under  police  "protection."  When  a  "boob"  made 
a  "holler,"  and  the  woman  was  arrested,  the  police 
took  good  care  to  so  delay  the  machinery  of  the  law 
that  the  victim  of  the  robbery  was  tired  out  long 


46  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

before  the  case  possibly  could  come  up  for  trial. 
This  was  especially  easy  if,  as  often  was  the  case, 
the  victim  was  a  respectable  farmer  or  substantial 
business  man  from  out  of  town  who,  like  as  not, 
passed  the  plate  on  Sundays  and  couldn't  afford  to 
have  the  smell  of  brimstone  on  his  clothes  when  he 
returned  home.  And  smell  to  heaven  his  garments 
would,  if  the  home  folks  ever  read  in  the  metropoli- 
tan papers  of  his  fall  from  grace. 

If  it  was  necessary  to  compromise  with  the  victim, 
the  police  did  so,  suggesting  to  him  that  he  ought 
to  be  satisfied  with  getting  back  without  publicity 
or  loss  of  time,  half  his  money  and  the  watch  that 
his  "dear  old  father"  gave  him.  Whatever  terms 
were  made  with  the  victim,  the  woman  thief  gave 
to  the  police  half  the  net  proceeds  of  the  robbery 
— "gun  money." 

If  the  victim  was  game  and  the  case  finally 
came  up  for  trial,  the  police  magistrate  and  the 
public  prosecutor  did  their  duty — to  their  friends — 
and  the  complainant  left  the  court  room  with  in- 
creased patriotism  and  wonderment  at  the  marvels 
of  law  and  justice. 

The  gamblers  who  led  their  pigeons  from  Harry 
Hill's  to  be  thoroughly  plucked  in  safe  and  secluded 
rooms  upstairs,  or  conveniently  situated  nearby,  and 
the  thugs  and  confidence  men  who  led  their  victims 
away  to  slug  and  rob  them  at  leisure,  basked  in  the 
smiles  of  the  Tammany  Tiger  and  were  "protected" 
by  the  official  powers  that  prey — the  "men  higher 
up,"  who  are  the  most  voracious  of  all  the  grafting 
blood-suckers  of  our  social  system. 

Even  when  the  victim  passed  from  earth  by  the 
assassination  route  to  return  no  more — the  river  was 
not  far  away  and  a  blackjack  or  a  "life  preserv- 


HENNESSY  LAYS  HIS  WIRES  47 

er"  made  no  sound — the  denizens  of  the  underworld 
were  unafraid,  for  they  stood  together.  Without 
their  help,  the  police  would  have  been  powerless, 
even  if  they  had  been  honest  and  efficient,  for  if  ever 
criminals  cease  to  betray  criminals,  the  sleuth,  like 
Othello,  will  find  his  occupation  gone. 

As  the  gamblers  paid  monthly  tithes  to  the  police, 
and  hence  were  "solid  with  the  front  office"  at  the 
City  Hall,  their  various  paraphernalia  were  fixed  to 
win,  and  " trimming  a  boob"  was  as  safe  as  shooting 
Shanghai  chickens  in  one's  own  back  lot.  The  "gen- 
tlemen" whom  the  victim  met  at  poker  were  experts 
in  slight-of-hand,  marking  cards  and  manipulating 
cold  decks. 

There  are  many  honest  policemen,  but  no  honest 
police  systems.  Police  business  really  is  a  "busi- 
ness" and  run  on  up-to-date  lines.  The  police  in- 
dustry in  our  large  cities  always  has  stood  on  four 
mighty  pillars,  each  as  big  and  powerful  as  Atlas. 
It  has  been  supported  on  one  corner  by  crime,  on 
another  by  prostitution,  on  another  by  the  liquor 
traffic  and  on  the  fourth  and  last  by  the  cocain  and 
4 'hop"  joint.  All  four  of  these  pillars  ever  have 
rested  upon  a  foundation  of  corrupt  politics.  Since 
cities  began,  the  corner-stone  of  the  rotten  edifice 
has  been  graft. 

In  all  reason,  should  the  police  be  expected  to  do 
the  Samson  act  and  pull  down  its  own  house  about 
its  ears?  Is  it  so  remarkable  that  the  police  system 
should  swallow  up  the  decency  and  self-respect  of 
so  many  of  those  who  officially  live  by  it?  The 
police  grafter  is  often  as  much  the  victim  of  the 
corrupt  system  as  are  the  taxpayers  whom  he  so 
poorly  and  venally  serves  and  who,  in  the  last  analy- 
sis, really  are  responsible  for  the  system. 


48  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

It  was  midnight  on  " amateur  night"  at  Hill's. 
On  the  stage  shrieked,  capered  and  cavorted  a  dozen 
or  so  unfortunate,  degenerate,  theoretically  male 
creatures  branded  by  nature  with  the  awful  stigma 
of  sex  abnormality.  These  blots  upon  humanity's 
scutcheon  were  alleged  amateur  female  impersonat- 
ors, going  through  a  pretended  " trying  out"  pro- 
cess. The  crowd  knew  better  and  the  wise  ones 
were  aware  that  the  human  misfits  were  perverts 
from  resorts  close  by — "protected"  resorts  well 
known  to  the  police,  devoted  to  the  most  awful  de- 
baucheries known  to  degraded  humanity,  which,  when 
it  sinks  to  the  absolute  zero  of  depravity,  gives  the  an- 
thropoid apes  and  the  pithecanthropus  a  good  case 
of  libel  against  Darwin,  and  puts  a  gray  parrot  out 
of  the  running,  so  far  as  immorality  is  concerned. 

Mr.  Hennessy  arrived  at  Hill's  a  little  before 
midnight.  He  was  greeted  with  the  deference  which 
always  characterized  his  entree  to  public  gatherings 
in  the  tenderloin.  The  proprietor  himself  bowed 
most  servilely  and  would  have  shaken  his  hand  had 
not  the  Boss  rudely  brushed  past,  going  to  a  far 
corner  of  the  room,  where  he  seated  himself  at  an 
unoccupied  table. 

The  waiters  and  some  of  the  patrons  commented 
in  whispers  on  the  distinguished  new  arrival,  and 
several  of  the  female  contingent  of  the  crowd  glanced 
admiringly  in  his  direction,  but  Hennessy 's  mag- 
nificent isolation  was  not  disturbed.  The  wise  ones 
knew  better  than  to  intrude  on  the  gentleman's  priv- 
acy without  important  business  or  a  special  invita- 
tion— it  would  not  have  been  healthful — and  the 
dullest  observer  might  have  seen  that  the  Boss  want- 
ed to  be  alone. 


HENNESSY  LAYS  HIS  WIRES  49 

Hennessy  languidly  watched  the  entertainment  un- 
til a  boxing  bout  was  staged.  He  showed  some  inter- 
est in  this,  but  it  was  too  tame  and  unsanguinary  to 
suit  him. 

"A  pair  o'  rotten  dubs!"  he  snarled,  quite  audib- 
ly, and  then  lapsed  into  complete  indifference. 

Boss  Hennessy  was  a  pretty  tough  specimen  of 
humanity  and  no  stickler  for  the  proprieties,  but  he 
was  possessed  of  the  masculine  virility  which  charac- 
terizes many  of  his  class,  and  when  the  "amateur" 
stunts  came  on  the  boards  his  face  expressed  his 
disgust  in  unmistakable  fashion.  He  was  about  to 
openly  manifest  his  displeasure  by  leaving  the  hall, 
intending  to  emphasize  his  protest  against  the  dis- 
gusting exhibition  by  returning  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  act,  when  he  caught  sight  of  the  man  he  was 
seeking,  who  was  in  the  act  of  bouncing  from  the 
hall  and  "rolling"  an  obstreperous  patron  of  the 
place. 

The  bouncer  was  returning  to  his  post,  grinning 
with  satisfaction  at  the  pleasure  and  profit  of  a 
duty  well-performed.  Hennessy  caught  his  eye, 
greeted  him  with  an  almost  imperceptible  nod,  and 
beckoned  td  a  waiter  who  was  passing  with  a  tray 
of  poison  for  a  near-by  table.  The  man  hurriedly 
delivered  his  tray  and  hastened  to  the  boss. 

"Say,  Bo,"  ordered  Hennessy  in  a  low  tone,  "tip 
it  off  on  the  quiet  to  Butch  that  I  want  him  to  take 
a  pasear  over  this  way  an'  stumble  onto  me  acci- 
dentally. Don't  get  balled  up  now.  Chase  yerself! 
An'  don't  let  anybody  get  wise.  Bring  me  a  schoon- 
er o '  suds  for  a  stall. ' ' 

"I  got  yer,  Mr.  Hennessy,"  said  the  waiter,  with 
a  wink,  as  he  pocketed  the  half  dollar  tendered  him 
by  the  Boss  and  disappeared.  He  returned  short- 


50  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

ly  with  the  beer  and  a  few  minutes  later  unostenta- 
tiously delivered  the  message. 

The  man  whom  Hennessy  wanted  glanced  cun- 
ningly toward  him,  cleared  his  throat  behind  his 
hand  to  indicate  that  he  understood  and  a  little  later 
strolled  toward  Hennessy 's  corner,  glancing  from 
side  to  side  as  he  progressed,  as  if  looking  for  more 
breaches  of  decorum  on  the  part  of  the  guests. 

The  bouncer,  apparently  by  accident,  caught  sight 
of  Hennessy  just  as  he  was  about  to  pass  that  wor- 
thy's table. 

"Well,  well!  Just  lookee  who's  'ere!  Mr.  'En- 
nesy,  blime  me  h'if  it  ain't!  Where 'd  you  blow 
from?" 

"From  up-river,  Butch.  Been  havin'  an  outin' — 
an'  a  good  time  generally." 

"Glad  ye  'ad  a  good  time,  Mr.  'Ennessy,  but 
there's  no  h'accountin'  for  tastes,"  and  Butch 

frinned  meaningly.  "W'en  h'l  goes  for  a  h '.outin' 
don't  go  h 'up-river.  Not  if  h'l  knows  it.  Don't 
like  the  'otels  h'up  there,  sir,  'specially  at .  .  .  " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  interrupted  the  Boss,  testily, 
"but  if  you'd  use  yer  brains  more  and  yer  gun  less, 
ye  wouldn't  know  so  much  about  that  stir  up-river. 
There's  a  new  style  warden  up  there  now,  who 
ain't  broke  in  yet.  He  believes  in  reformin'  crooks 
with  baths  and  spellin'  books.  Them  things  'd  be 
fatal  to  you,  so  you  'd  better  cut  out  the  rough  stuff. ' ' 

"H'all  right  Boss,  h'I'll  be  careful.  H'l  don't 
care  to  'elp  break  that  fierce  guy  in.  But  h  'I  '11  tote 
me  little  smoke- wagon,  just  the  same.  When  a  feller 
needs  it,  'e  needs  it  damn  bad." 

"Sit  down  and  have  a  beer,  Butch.  It'll  look  bet- 
ter." 


HENNESSY  LAYS  HIS  WIRES  51 

"Ugh!  H'l'm  so  full  o'  Dutch  suds  now,  that 
me  teeth  is  afloat  an'  me  mouth  tastes  like  a  Chinese 
laundry,  but  h'I'll  take  a  small  beer,  h'if  it's  a  stall 
ye  want, ' '  and  the  crook  dropped  into  a  chair. 

"What  luck  with  that  geek  ye  bounced  just  now?" 
asked  Hennessy. 

"Nothin'  h'extry,"  and  Butch  grinned  sheepish- 
ly. "A  h 'off-colored  spark,  a  leather  wit  a  kid's 
roll  h'in  it,  an'  a  yellow  clock  an'  slang  that  looks 
like  it  might  h'a  been  'is  grandpa's.  H'I'm  bettin' 
it's  shice,  but  maybe  it's  the  real  goods  h'at  that. 
The  'ole  bloomin  'aul  looks  like  h'eats  an'  beer  fer 
a  week,  that's  about  h'all." 

The  waiter  delivered  the  beer  and  the  two  men 
touched  glasses. 

"Meet  me  at  Black  Bill's  tomorrow  night  at  ten 
sharp,"  Hennessy  said  in  a  low  tone,  looking  at  the 
stage  and  apparently  commenting  on  the  perform- 
ance. He  looked  at  his  watch — "No,  it'll  be  tonight; 
it's  one  o'clock,  or  I'm  a  Dutchman!  Don't  let  any- 
body pipe  ye  off,  an'  say  nothin'  to  nobody.  See?" 

"You're  h'on,  Mr.  'Ennessy." 

The  two  drained  their  glasses,  shook  hands, 
and  bade  each  other  good  night,  Butch  returning 
to  his  strenuous  duties  and  the  Boss,  after  sitting 
a  while  to  divert  suspicion,  should  any  have  been  ex- 
cited, leisurely  departed  from  the  hall,  nodding  a 
curt  greeting  to  several  men  and  women  as  he 
passed. 

Hennessy  smiled  sardonically  as  he  recognized 
in  the  crowd  on  his  way  out,  several  groups  of  men 
and  women  from  the  aristocratic  sections  of  the 
city  who,  under  the  guise  of  a  "slumming"  expedi- 
tion were  doing  the  red-light  district  and  the  var- 


52  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

ious  disreputable  resorts  of  the  tenderloin — and 
incidentally  gratifying  primitive  instincts  that  were 
stronger  than  curiosity. 

He  also  saw  men  of  gentle  birth  and  breeding  who 
were  there  looking  for  the  suffrages  of  the  "  sub- 
merged tenth."  These  were  prospective  candidates 
for  office  or,  as  the  denizens  of  the  district  expressed 
it,  "swell  guys  out  fer  de  big  graft." 

These  latter  persons  were  regarded  somewhat  cyn- 
ically by  the  Boss.  He  often  had  taken  full  advan- 
tage of  the  fact  that  politics  makes  strange  bedfel- 
lows, and  had  done  some  very  profitable  business 
in  furnishing  questionable  votes  for  aristocratic 
office-seekers  who,  while  justifying  dubious  means  by 
profitable  ends,  considered  themselves  superior  to 
the  men  who  sold  them  votes  and  furnished  them 
repeaters  at  so  much  a  hundred,  and  he  felt  only 
contempt  for  such  persons. 

At  the  farther  side  of  the  room,  near  the  entrance 
to  the  hall,  Hennessy  observed  one  of  his  female 
"discards,"  who  appeared  to  be  under  the  escort 
of  one  of  his  sworn  political  foes.  The  party  of 
four  or  five  at  the  woman's  table  appeared  to  be 
discussing  the  Boss  in  an  obviously  unfriendly  way. 

Hennessy  contemplated  the  group  for  a  moment. 

"Didn't  take  you  long  to  catch  another  sucker, 
Aggie,"  he  chuckled  sardonically  to  himself.  "I 
wish  him  joy  of  ye — the  d— — d  boob !  Hope  ye  trim 
him  proper,"  and  he  went  serenely  on  his  way. 

At  the  door,  the  urbane  and  politic  Mr.  Hill  bade 
the  Boss  good  night  and  asked  him  how  he  liked  the 
show. 

"Most  of  it'll  pass  muster,  Harry,  but  take  it 
from  me,  ye  'd  better  cut  out  them  Willie  boys  with 
the  petticoat  stunts.  They'd  queer  a  show  at  a 


HENNESSY  LAYS  HIS  WIEES  53 

nigger  joint  in  hell.    That  sort  o'  rough  stuff  makes 
a  real  guy  seasick.    Get  me? 

The  immorally  proper  Mr.  Thomas  Hennessy 
passed  out  into  the  night,  leaving  Mr.  Hill  vainly 
trying  to  reconcile  his  knowledge  of  the  Boss's  eth- 
ical principles — or  rather,  his  lack  of  them — with 
his  attitude  toward  abnormal  sex  depravity  in  gen- 
eral and  its  exponents  in  the  form.of  amateur  female 
impersonators  in  particular. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  FRAME-UP 

" Black  Bill"  was  one  of  New  York's  most  ver- 
satile and  industrious  citizens.  His  place  on  the 
water-front,  not  far  from  where  the  New  York  end 
of  the  Brooklyn  Bridge  now  stands,  had  manifold 
uses  for  its  patrons.  Ostensibly  a  resort  for  sea- 
men, as  the  sign,  " Sailors'  Anchorage  and  Home" 
over  the  door  ostentatiously  proclaimed,  it  really 
was  one  of  the  worst  dens  of  thieves  and  other  social 
scum  in  the  city — which  implies  one  of  the  worst  in 
the  world. 

Originally  a  "crimp"  and  the  keeper  of  a  sailors' 
doggery  in  an  English  seaport  town,  from  which  he 
was  induced  to  emigrate  by  an  unfriendly  constabu- 
lary and  police  magistracy,  Bill  Sayer  was  peculiar- 
ly qualified  to  conduct  a  disreputable  dive  and 
trap  for  luckless  sailor-men  in  the  metropolis 
of  America.  Incidentally,  he  had  "done  time." 
Quarrelsome  when  in  his  cups,  a  terror  in  a  rough- 
and-tumble  fight,  absolutely  unmoral,  and  fearless 
in  battle  as  a  bulldog,  the  hard-fisted  ex-convict  was 
a  man  whose  very  friendship  was  dangerous  and 
whose  enmity  was  well-nigh  fatal  to  its  object. 

Woe  to  the  luckless  sailor-man  who  fell  into  Black 
Bill's  vulture-like  clutches!  If  the  victim  chanced 
to  be  drunk,  he  was  robbed — "lush  working"  was  a 
specialty  among  the  habitues  of  the  place,  who 
served  Bill  and  got  their  "divvy."  If  he  was  sober 


THE  FRAME-UP  55 

and  had  money  the  sailor  was  slugged  to  death's 
door  and  his  pockets  rifled ;  he  sometimes  was  mur- 
dered outright,  his  body  being  stripped  at  leisure. 

There  was  no  chance  of  the  thugs  being  brought  to 
book.  The  police  on  the  water-front  knew  their  bus- 
iness and  were  deaf,  dumb  and  blind,  when  any  dis- 
turbance was  heard  that  might  cast  suspicion  on 
Black  Bill's  joint. 

When  seamen  were  at  a  premium,  "knock-out 
drops"  were  used,  and  the  sailor  robbed  and  shang- 
haied. When  the  poor  devil  awoke  to  a  conscious- 
ness of  his  surroundings,  he  found  himself  penniless. 
He  also  discovered  that  he  had  been  signed,  sealed 
and  delivered  to  some  sailing  master  and  was  well 
out  to  sea,  where  distance  from  shore  and  a  rope's 
end  skilfully  applied  were  sufficient  argument  that 
he  would  better  accept  the  inevitable. 

It  was  at  Black  Bill's  that  the  river  and  harbor 
pirates  of  New  York  planned  their  depredations 
along  the  water  front ;  it  was  there  that  they  divided 
and  concealed  their  spoils.  Bill  was  their  clearing- 
house and  fence,  and  what  was  more,  he  was  a  friend 
of  Boss  Hennessy's,  and  that  made  him  a  friend 
of  the  "bulls,"  from  the  humblest  plainclothes  man 
or  patrolman,  to  the  lordly  chief  in  the  front  office. 

One  of  the  most  profitable  industries  carried  on 
at  Black  Bill's  was  the  barter  and  sale  of  white 
slaves.  From  originally  keeping  on  hand  a  supply 
of  these  poor  creatures  for  the  benefit  of  the  male 
patrons  of  the  house,  to  the  establishment  of  an 
"exchange"  patronized  by  the  keepers  of  the  resorts 
of  the  red-light  district,  was  a  most  natural  devel- 
opment. 

"Skirts"  were  easy  to  obtain.     By  getting  in 


56  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

touch  with  procurers  in  the  New  England  factory 
towns  and  subsidizing  immigration  officers  who  had 
a  keen  eye  for  eligibles  landing  at  Castle  Garden, 
friendless  and  alone,  Bill  was  able  to  make  the  sup- 
ply of  white  slaves  at  all  times  equal  to  a  large  and 
profitable  demand. 

Black  Bill's  establishment  was  especially  well  lo- 
cated for  the  more  hazardous  branches  of  his  busi- 
ness— granting  that,  under  police  protection,  his 
business  really  involved  any  hazard.  The  East  river 
was  near,  the  locality  secluded,  dark  as  Erebus  and 
deserted  at  night,  and  the  rising  and  falling  tide 
soon  took  away  from  the  immediate  neighborhood 
any  dead  bodies  which  the  exigencies  of  Bill's  nefar- 
ious trade  caused  to  be  thrown  into  the  river. 

A  "life  preserver" — an  eelskin  filled  with  bird 
shot — leaves  no  tell-tale  mark  on  its  victim's  head 
or  neck,  and  a  man  who  is  thrown  into  the  river 
while  unconscious  from  liquor  or  drugs  is  a  still 
safer  proposition  for  the  murderer,  should  the  body 
ever  turn  up  on  a  slab  at  the  morgue. 

A  dead  body  that  has  been  beaten  up  and  dis- 
figured by  bumping  against  the  piling  of  wharfs  and 
docks  as  the  rushing  waters  carry  it  to  and  fro,  or 
cut  up  by  floating  ice  and  propeller  screws,  tells  no 
tales  to  a  discreet  coroner's  deputy,  save  that  of  an 
"unknown"  suicide  or  accidental  drowning.  Mys- 
terious disappearances  in  which  no  corpse  ever  is 
found  are  not  even  a  nine  days'  wonder  in  New 
York. 

One  of  the  obvious  reasons  for  Black  Bill's  secur- 
ity in  the  transaction  of  his  business,  was  the  great 
service  he  rendered  to  politicians  in  times  of  pressing 


THE  FRAME-UP  57 

need.  It  was  a  dull  period  indeed,  when  he  could  not 
furnish  several  hundred  illegal  voters — repeaters  all 
— with  which  to  decide  the  party  balance  in  a  doubt- 
ful election.  Boss  Hennessy  probably  was  the 
only  man  in  New  York  who  was  his  superior  in  this 
line  of  patriotic  endeavor. 

Black  Bill's  place  was  a  lazar-house  for  social 
lepers  of  many  kinds,  who  unfortunately  were  not 
immured,  but  were  permitted  to  roam  about  at  will, 
much  to  the  detriment  of  decent  folk.  It  was  a 
burrow  in  which  the  rats  and  foxes  of  the  under- 
world found  a  secure  hiding-place,  when  the  usually 
apathetic  police  became  aroused  to  the  necessity  of 
making  good  and  showing  the  public  that  the  guard- 
ians of  its  peace  and  safety  really  were  * '  on  the  job. ' ' 
Their  enthusiasm  never  went  so  far  as  to  disturb 
Bill's  dive,  and  if  it  so  happened  that  any  of  its 
denizens  had  to  be  offered  up  on  the  altar  of  politi- 
cal virtue  and  criminal  fraternity  safety,  Bill  him- 
self, on  due  notification,  would  "rap"  on  them  and 
deliver  them  up  to  the  " bulls." 

A  safe  and  secluded  room  for  private  conferences 
always  was  at  the  service  of  Black  Bill's  friends, 
and  it  was  not  without  reason  that  Bull  Hennessy 
selected  it  for  the  rendezvous  with  his  henchman. 
The  star-chamber  room  at  Bill's  joint  received  se- 
crets as  a  deep  well  swallows  stones.  They  went  in 
but  came  not  out  again. 

Promptly  at  the  appointed  hour,  George,  alias 
"Butch"  Harris,  alias  "English  Butch,"  alias  the 
"Birmingham  Strangler,"  arrived  at  Black  Bill's. 
Making  his  business  known  to  a  large  blonde  female 
known  as  "Bill's  moll,"  Butch  was  ushered  into  the 
conference  chamber,  lit  his  pipe  and  sat  down  to 
await  the  Boss. 


58  TKUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

George  Harris  was  a  man  of  forty-two  or  forty- 
three  years  of  age.  He  was  born  in  Birmingham, 
England,  and  until  the  age  of  twenty-five  was  a 
butcher  by  vocation  and  a  second-rate  prize-fighter 
by  avocation.  He  finally  renounced  his  business  of 
meat-killing  and  cutting  and  engaged  in  pugilism  as 
a  more  or  less  constant  occupation. 

Harris  was  a  hard  drinker  when  not  in  training, 
inclined  to  be  belligerent  outside  of  business  hours 
and  to  "run  amuck"  on  the  slightest  provocation — 
which  is  bad  policy  for  the  pugilist.  In  one  of  his 
tantrums  he  was  unlucky  enough  to  select  for  his 
abusive  tactics  the  wrong  party,  a  gentleman  ath- 
lete, and  was  thoroughly  whipped.  He  vowed  ven- 
geance and  waylaying  his  conqueror  one  dark  night, 
gave  him  a  wallop  over  the  head  with  a  black-jack 
that  very  nearly  killed  him.  For  this  assault  with 
a  deadly  weapon,  Butch  was  given  a  ten-year  stretch 
in  prison.  He  served  his  sentence  and  at  the  end 
of  it  was  generously  furnished  free  passage  to 
America  by  a  society  working  under  surreptitious 
British  government  sanction  and  patronage,  the  bus- 
iness of  which  was  to  rid  England  of  undesirable  cit- 
izens by  presenting  them  gratis  to  Uncle  Sam. 

Butch  landed  in  New  York,  quickly  grasped  the 
political  situation  in  that  metropolis,  and  also  noted 
the  value  and  safety  of  a  life  of  crime  for  wise  per- 
sons. He  first  made  himself  valuable  to  the  political 
powers  and  then,  under  their  protection,  soon  be- 
came one  of  the  most  formidable  strong-arm  men 
that  ever  cursed  New  York.  His  specialty  was  gar- 
roting  unwary  pedestrians,  and  as  he  had  a  hug  like  a 
gorilla,  the  disasters  that  occasionally  happened 
to  the  victims  of  his  many  "stickups"  earned  for 
him  the  appropriate  sobriquet  of  the  '  *  Strangler. " 


THE  FRAME-UP  59 

By  way  of  keeping  in  proper  trim  for  his  profes- 
sional work,  he  occasionally  practiced  his  old  pro- 
fession of  pugilism  on  the  side. 

Noting  Butch  Harris's  closely-cropped  head, 
seamed  with  scars  from  many  knuckles,  constables' 
batons  and  roughly-applied  bottles  and  beer  glasses ; 
his  retreating  forehead  and  protruding  jaw,  deep-set 
greenish  gray  eyes  and  shaggy  brows,  broad  shoul- 
ders, stocky  figure  and  enormous,  heavy  hands,  one 
naturally  would  endeavor  to  avoid  an  acquaintance 
close  enough  to  permit  the  thug  to  display  his  skill 
with  his  "maulies,"  or  his  ability  to  successfully 
shut  off  one's  wind,  break  one's  larynx,  or  even 
one's  neck,  with  a  strangle  hold. 

Promptly  on  time  Hennessy  entered  Bill's  dog- 
gery and  stalked  through  the  bar-room,  indifferent 
alike  to  the  sour  fumes  of  stale  beer,  gin,  fetid  per- 
sonal odors  and  tobacco  smoke,  and  to  the  people 
who  stood  at  the  bar  or  lounged  about  the  room. 

As  he  passed  the  smoke  and  dust-begrimed  bar, 
the  "bottle-tosser"  nodded  in  hospitable  and  defer- 
ential greeting.  The  Boss  curtly  returned  the  sal- 
utation. 

A  bleary-eyed,  grey- whiskered  old  "soak,"  who 
just  then  was  rising  from  the  table  on  which  he  had 
been  reposing1  his  head  and  sleeping  off  the  effects 
of  Black  Bill's  " coffin- varnish, "  staggered  in  front 
of  the  Boss  and  was  brushed  aside  as  one  might  dis- 
pose of  a  yellow  dog. 

The  bloated,  senile  wreck  fell  face  downward  on 
the  floor,  striking  his  head  on  a  cuspidor,  breaking 
that  useful  if  not  ornamental  utensil  and  cutting  a 
gash  in  his  scalp  from  which  the  blood  spouted 
merrily  for  a  brief  moment  and  then  slowly  trickled 
to  the  floor,  to  mingle  with  the  sawdust  and  the  re- 


60  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

volting  contents  of  the  overturned  cuspidor,  in  a 
huge  nauseating,  black  and  red  and  yellow  splotch  of 
filth— a  veritable  bit  of  " local  color." 

Hennessy  was  not  wont  to  pick  up  his  wounded. 
People  who  got  in  his  way  must  needs  take  care  of 
themselves.  A  down-and-out  "lush,"  more  or  less, 
didn't  count  for  much  with  him.  Election  time  was 
a  long  way  off  and  he  had  no  orders  for  repeaters 
to  fill.  He  therefore  paid  no  attention  to  the  fallen 
man. 

The  Boss  strode  on  toward  the  inner  sanctum,  de- 
voted to  the  devil  and  his  chief  works  in  black  and 
red — and  to  the  "long  green."  He  turned  at  the 
door,  nodded  to  the  bar-keeper,  and  gave  him  the 
"high  sign,"  by  which  it  was  understood  that  the 
great  Boss  Hennessy  was  not  to  be  disturbed 
till  further  advices. 

As  the  boss  closed  the  door  after  him,  one  of  the 
group  of  men  who  stood  at  the  bar  let  his  curiosity 
get  the  better  of  his  discretion  and  addressed  the 
bar-keeper. 

"What's  up,  Jim?  Looks  like  the  Boss  had  a  hen 
on." 

The  bar-keeper  glared  at  the  "butter-in"  for  a 
second,  in  emphatic  rebuke  that  contained  more  than 
the  suggestion  of  a  threat. 

"Dunno  what  you're  drivin'  at,  Bo,  but  if  you 
ain't  damn  careful  you'll  get  some  bad  air  into  yer 
pipes.  That  gent's  a  stranger,  what's  rented  the 
private  room  ter  clip  coupons  in.  See!  An'  that 
room  ain't  no  chicken-coop,  neither.  D'ye  get  that?" 

The  man  mumbled  an  apology  and  concealed  his 
confusion  by  ordering  drinks  all  around,  which  the 
"bottle-tosser"  urbanely  put  on  the  slate — this  be- 
ing conservative  enough,  for  Bill's  patrons  had  no 


THE  FRAME-UP  61 

homes  but  the  dens  of  the  underworld  and  no  coun- 
try but  gang-land.  The  fellow  who  failed  to  settle 
his  score  soon  had  neither  home  nor  country — un- 
less he  could  show  cause  for  default,  in  which  case 
he  was  "taken  care  of"  and  his  "face"  was  good 
until  the  fates  sent  some  "cush"  his  way. 

The  poor  old  down-and-out  was  permitted  to  lie 
where  he  fell.  He  finally  came  to  his  senses,  stag- 
gered to  his  feet  and  up  to  the  bar,  where  he  tried 
to  work  the  house  for  a  drink. 

"Ah,  go  soak  yer  head,  ye  d d  bum!"  said  the 

bar-keeper. 

"Come  on,  Jim,"  quavered  the  "lush,"  huskily. 
"Gimme  just  one  more, — that's  a  good  feller." 

"Good  feller,  hell!"  responded  •  the  bar-keeper 
hotly.  They  crucified  a  guy  once  fer  bein'  a  good 
feller,  an'  I  ain't  takin'  no  chances.  See?  Here, 
Buck!"  he  called  to  a  burly  "strong  arm,"  who 
served  as  bouncer  and  porter  at  Black  Bill's  when  he 
was  not  "in  stir"  serving  sentences.  "Here's  some 
trainin'  fer  ye.  Lead  him  to  it — an'  give  him  plenty 
o'  hoof." 

The  huge  brute  grinned  from  ear  to  ear. 

"Jes'  lamp  me,  Bo!" 

The  helpless  old  lush  was  rushed  to  the  door  and 
brutally  kicked  into  the  gutter !  He  lay  there  stunned 
and  bleeding  until  a  patrolman  found  him.  The  of- 
ficer called  a  wagon,  ran  him  in  and  he  was  booked 
as  a  "common" — very  common — "drunk." 

He  was  found  dead  in  his  cell  the  next  morning! 
No  autopsy  was  made — the  police  were  wise  and  dis- 
creet as  owls,  the  coroner's  physician  always  was  in 
a  hurry  and  besides,  hadn't  the  police  surgeon  made 
a  diagnosis? 

It  would  have  been  embarrassing  if  some  meddle- 


62  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

some  doctor  had  insisted  on  making  a  post-mortem. 
The  medical  man  might  have  babbled  a  lot  of  scien- 
tific jargon  that  would  have  crept  into  the  news- 
papers. 

Wouldn't  it  have  been  a  "pretty  howdy  do,"  if 
the  press  had  ignored  the  police  surgeon's  diagnosis 
and  published  something  like  this? 

"Rupture  of  the  middle  meningeal  artery  from 
fracture  of  the  temporal  bone,  followed  by  coma  and 
death  due  to  a  large  clot  of  blood  pressing  on  the 
brain." 

Very  unmusical  and  quite  complex.  How  much 
simpler  and  more  comprehensible  the  verdict  of  an 
omniscient  coroner's  jury  that  has  faith  in  the  wis- 
dom of  a  police  surgeon's  opinion,  verified  by  a 
"doc"  from  the  coroner's  office. 

"Died  from  alcoholism  and  exposure,  with  com- 
plicating infirmities  of  old  age!" 

Who  ever  quarrels  with  the  entries  on  the  blotter 
of  a  police  station,  or  with  coroner's  records'? 

Butch  Harris  had  just  finished  his  pipe   when 
Hennessy  entered  the  room,  seated  himself  facing 
his  henchman  and  abruptly  proceeded  to  business. 
"Glad  yer  on  time,  Butch,  I've  got  a  job  for  ye." 
"H'a  particular  job  h'l  s'pose,"  said  "Butch," 
peering  shrewdly  at  the  Boss  from  beneath  his  mus- 
tache-like brows. 

"Most  particular — an'  some  special,"  replied 
Hennessy,  grimly.  The  kind  that  won't  stand  any 
foolishness  or  mouth  work.  It's  got  to  be  under- 
ground. See  I ' ' 

"H'l  get  ye,  Boss,  but  wot's  the  lay?" 
"There's  a  certain  feller  that's  been  walkin'  on 
my  grass,  an'  I  want  him  cured  o'  the  habit." 


THE  FEAME-UP  63 

"Politics,  graft  or  skoits?"  grinned  Butch. 

"None  o'  yer  damned  business,  Butch,  but  ye  can 
call  it  politics — an'  let  it  go  at  that." 

"  'Ow  far  d'ye  want  me  ter  go,  Boss!" 

* '  The  limit.  The  gent  needs  a  change  of  climate, 
an'  you've  got  to  do  the  prescribin'  an'  furnish  the 
transportation — an'  the  sleepin  car  ticket.  I  want 
him  bumped  off.  D  'ye  understand  ? ' ' 

"But,  h'l  say,  Mr.  'Ennessy,  that's  comin'  it  a 
bit  strong — h'I'm  just  h'out  o'  stir,  ye  know,  an' 
I  'ad  a  damn  close  call  f  er  a  bloody  long  stretch. ' ' 

"Yes,  you  chump!"  snorted  Hennessy,  "an'  how 
long  did  ye  stay  in — an'  who  got  ye  out?  An'  what 
would  ha'  happened  to  ye  in  court,  first  off,  if  I 
hadn't  jollied  the  governor  into  wisin'  up  the  bulls 
by  pullin'  the  wires  from  Albany?  A  fat  chance 
you  had." 

"That's  easy  h 'answered,"  returned  Butch,  grate- 
fully, "an'  h'I'm  not  forgettin'  'oo  came  to  the  front 
fer  me,  but,  say,  Boss,  h'l  got  'old  of  a  'ot  one  in 
that  mix-up  with  that  blarsted  bull,  Steve  'Olland, 
last  week!" 

"Yes,"  sneered  the  Boss,  "you're  real  clever — 
not!  Instead  o'  makin'  a  clean  getaway — as  the 
boys  tell  me  ye  could  ha'  done — ye  had  to  show 
fight  an'  break  the  bean  o'  one  o'  Chief  Kerrigan's 
pet  bulls." 

"But  the  bleedin'  beggar  'anded  be  a  biff  in  the 
jaw,  an'  h'I'm  not  used  to  bein'  'anded  one  with- 
out 'andin'  one  back." 

"You  blitherin'  idiot!"  stormed  Hennessy,  "Why 
didn't  ye  hand  him  one  back,  instead  o'  bendin'  yer 
gun  over  his  head?  He  ain't  out  o'  the  hospital 
yet." 

"Wich   is    some   consolation,    blime   me,"    said 


64  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Butch,  grinning  widely  and  showing  his  yellow,  to- 
bacco-stained teeth. 

"Consolation,  hell!  It  won't  be  much  consolation 

for  you  if  some  o '  them  d d  bulls  cuts  loose  with 

a  gatt  an'  gits  ye  first  an'  collars  ye  afterward,  one 
o'  these  fine  days.  There's  a  lot  o'  difference  be- 
tween bein'  taken  to  the  station  in  the  hurry-up 
wagon  an'  bein'  hauled  to  the  morgue  in  an  ambu- 
lance. D'ye  git  that,  you  infernal  mutt?" 

Butch  sullenly  shrugged  his  shoulders  without 
replying. 

"Now,  see  here,  Butch,"  continued  Hennessy,  ab- 
ruptly, rising  and  taking  out  his  watch,  "I  didn't 
come  here  to  argue  with  ye.  I've  got  other  fish  ter 
fry,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  quit  this  joint  in  just 
two  minutes,  by  the  watch.  If  you're  willin'  ter  do 
the  job,  spiel,  if  ye  ain't,  then  I'll  find  some  red- 
blooded  guy  that  will.  An'  by  the  way,  don't  forgit 
that  I'm  hep  ter  that  little  stick-up  job  over  in 

Newark.     That  old  geezer  that  you  croaked  was 
» 

"Sh— h!  Fer  Gawd's  sake,  Boss,  don't  talk  so 
bloody  loud ! ' '  Butch  grew  pale  and  looked  around 
the  room  in  fearful  apprehension.  "  'Ow  did  ye 
know  h 'about  that?  h'I'll  swear  h'l  never — 'Oo  the 
bloody  'ell  wised  you  h'up  ter ?" 

"Of  course  ye  didn't,  Butch,"  and  Hennessy 
laughed  sardonically,  "an'  of  course  nobody  put  me 
wise — till  you  did  just  now.  It  looked  like  your 
work,  an'  I  just  guessed  it  was  you  that  did 
the  job.  Say,  Butch,  but  you're  easy — a  reg'lar 
mark!" 

"But,  h'on  the  level,  Boss,"  whined  Butch  appeal- 
ingly,  "h'l  didn't  think  h 'about  'is  bein'  such  a 


THE  FRAME-UP  65 

h'old  feller,  any'ow,  an'  h'l  didn't  mean  ter  squeeze 
'is  blarsted  neck  so  bloody  'ard." 

"Bunk!"  sneered  Hennessy,  "Say,  Butch,  on  the 
dead — ye  don't  think  ye  can  git  by  me  with  that 
squeal,  do  ye?  If  ye  do,  come  out  of  it.  Tell  that 
to  the  jury,  Butch,"  he  mocked.  "That  old  man 
was  a  mighty  popular  guy.  He  was  mayor  over 
there  once,  an'  his  folks  has  lots  o'  cush,  believe  me. 
I'd  hate  to  see  ye  stretched,  Butch,  I  really  would!" 

* '  Good  Gawd !  Ye  wouldn  't  snitch  h  'on  me,  would 
ye  ? ' ' — and  Butch  fairly  grovelled. 

"N — no;  I  don't — believe — I  would,"  replied  Hen- 
nessy, reflectively.  "Anyhow,  I'd  hate  ter  have  ter 
snitch  on  yer." 

He  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Time 'sup,  Butch." 

The  Boss  closed  the  time-piece,  put  it  in  his  pocket 
and  started  for  the  door. 

"'Old  h'on,  Boss,"  stammered  Butch,  shakily, 
"Cawn't  ye  wait  a  bit,  an'  give  me  time  ter  think  it 
h'over?" 

"Righto!"  said  Hennessy,  as  he  resumed  his 
chair.  "Quit  chewin'  the  rag  and  sit  down  and 
think  it  over — an'  think  d — — d  hard." 

Butch  regained  his  nerve  in  a  moment. 

"Well,  wot's  the  job?  Spit  'er  out.  'Go's  the 
bloke  ye  wants  me  ter  croak?" 

"It's  a  feller  up-river.  He's  on  a  railroad  job  at 
A  ...  .,  superintendin'." 

*  *  Railroad  job !  Superintendin ' !  Wy  the  bloody 
'ell  don't  ye  git  'is  bloomin  job,  an'  let  it  go  h'at 
that?" 

* '  That 's  my  business.  What  I  want  is  ter  git  him 
right.  See?" 

Butch    astutely   drew    his    own    conclusions — in 


66  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

which  "skoits"  occupied  a  prominent  place.  He 
made  no  comment,  however;  he  was  wise  in  some 
things. 

"H'all  right,  Boss,"  he  said,  submissively,  "give 
me  the  lay.  Wot's  'is  monicker,  an'  wot's  'e  like 
w'en  h'l  lamps  'im?" 

"His  name's  Parkyn.  He's  a  feller  about  twen- 
ty-five years  old,  one  o'  them  college-trained  dudes 
— an'  they're  easy  meat." 

"H'is  'e  'usky?"  asked  Butch,  with  business-like 
caution. 

"Oh,  he's  husky  enough,  but  husky  is  as  husky 

does,  an'  what  them  d d  cream-puff  scrappers 

don't  know  about  man-handlin'  'd  fill  a  book.  This 
job's  a  pipe." 

Certain  painful  memories  came  to  the  surface  of 
Butch 's  brain. 

"Did  ye  ever  tackle  h'a  real  good  one,  Boss?" 
he  queried.  "H'l  did  wonst — h'an'  wonst  was  a 
plenty  fer  George  'Arris,  h 'Esquire.  'E  wan't  no 
bloomin'  pipe,  that  one !  'E  give  me  wot  for — put  a 
'ead  h'on  both  'is  'ands.  Tell  ye  wot,  Boss,  h'l  ain't 
'ankerin'  h 'after  no  more  o'  them  kind  o'  varsity 
blokes." 

"Exceptions  to  all  rules,  Butch,  an'  I  s'pose  you 

always  was  a  d d  fool  at  pickin'  yer  man,  but  what 

the  hell?  You're  not  goin'  ter  invite  the  feller  to  a 
pink  tea  stick-up,  Queensberry  rules  ter  govern,  are 
ye?  Yer  goin'  ter  git  him  quick — an'  cook  him 
right." 

"Does  'e  carry  a  gatt?"  inquired  Butch. 

"What  in  h 1  d'ye  expect,  ye  lobster?  Nobody 

but  a  d — — d  mutt  would  be  mixed  up  with  them 
crazy-headed  Dagoes  workin'  on  that  railroad  job, 
without  a  gun!  Buf  ye  ain't  goin'  ter  be  sucker 


THE  FRAME-UP  67 

enough  ter  give  him  a  chance  ter  use  it,  are  ye  ? — an ' 
ye  ain't  goin'  ter  use  yer  own  smoke-wagon,  either, 
if  you've  got  any  sense  in  yer  bean.  Get  that?  The 
river's  handy  an'  there's  some  swift  current  up 
yonder.  It's  ter  be  a  quiet  job — one  o'  them  mys- 
terious disappearances.  See?" 

"Sure,  Mike,  an'  that's  wot  it'll  be,  unless  me 
bloody  'ands  is  wuss  h'on  the  blink  than  they  h'are 
this  h'evenin',"  and  Butch  proudly  contemplated  his 
enormous  hairy  paws.  "They  h'aint  never  missed 
fire  yet,  blime  me  if  they  'ave — not  never." 

"No,"  said  Hennessy,  dryly,  "but  sometimes  ye 
put  too  much  powder  behind  'em.  But  ye  needn't  be 
afraid  o '  that  this  time.  Put  in  an  extry  charge  an ' 
do  the  job  up  brown." 

"Trust  me,  Boss,"  growled  Butch,  "h'I'm  some 
neat  cooker  h'l  am.  Wot  d'ye  want  me  ter  do,  go 
h'up  yonder  an'  loaf  around  until  h'l  gits  me 
chawnce  h  'at  the  blawsted  bloke  ? ' ' 

"Rats!  You're  some  wise  guy,  I  don't  think!" 
exclaimed  Hennessy,  disgustedly.  "You'll  git  yer 
damn  neck  stretched  yet !  How  long  d'ye  think  ye'd 
be  in  that  little  jay  town  before  every  man,  woman 
an'  kid  in  the  place  'd  be  on  to  ye  an'  rap  ye  to  the 
bulls?  Every  one  of  'em  could  identify  ye,  if  it 
came  ter  a  show-down. 

"I've  got  it  all  doped  out,"  Hennessy  went  on, 
"an'  doped  out  right.  You  can  get  away  with  it 
dead  easy,  if  ye  don't  go  off  half-cocked.  Jack  Hal- 
loran,  the  foreman  on  the  job,  told  me  the  other  day 
that  some  of  his  men  had  quit,  an'  that  he  could  use 
ten  or  twelve  more.  I  promised  ter  send  'em  up — 
'twas  me  that  contracted  t'  furnish  the  whole  gang 
for  that  bit  o'  work.  Nothin'  ever  gits,  past  me  on 
the  little  old  Central.  Well,  I'll  git  a  bunch  together 


68  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

an'  slip  you  in  with  'em  an'  send  the  lot  o'  ye  up  ter 
Halloran.  See?" 

"H'is  this  guy,  'Alloran,  right?"  asked  Butch. 

"Eight?  Hell!"  snorted  Hennessy,  "He  don't 
have  to  be  right ;  though,  for  the  matter  o '  that,  he 's 
on  the  square  an '  won 't  stand  for  any  crooked  work 
— nor  any  rough  stuff,  either.  He  ain't  hep  to  me 
in  this  job,  an'  we  don't  want  ter  wise  him  up  nor 
give  him  a  diagram  of  it.  He  '11  take  the  men  I  send 
him  an'  ask  no  questions,  an'  that's  all  we  want  out 
o'him."" 

"Wen  d'ye  want  me  to  start,  Boss?" 

"Go  to  my  North  River  office — in  the  mornin ' — 
you  know  where  it  is — an'  apply  for  a  job.  I'll  not 
be  seein'  ye  again,  an'  don't  ye  try  ter  git  in  touch 
with  me  after  the  job's  done,  until  I  send  for  ye. 
D'ye  understand?" 

"Right  h'o.    Want  a  report,  Boss?" 

"Not  on  yer  life.  I'll  get  all  the  dope  I  want  out 
o'  the  papers.  Git  back  to  New  York  as  quick  as 
ye  can,  hunt  yer  hole  an'  lay  low.  You'll  be  safer 
here,  an'  if  anything  goes  wrong,  ye '11  be  where  I 
can  take  care  of  it.  Here,  take  this  f  er  a  retainer, ' ' 
and  Hennessy  handed  Butch  a  roll  of  bills.  "If  ye 
make  good,  there's  another  wad  o'  bones  waitin'  fer 
ye,  an'  I'll  see  that  it  gits  to  ye,  an'  no  questions 
asked.  An'  now,  me  bucko,  pull  yer  freight,  an' 
make  it  a  quick  sprint.  Not  afraid  o'  the  dark,  are 
ye?"  he  chuckled  satirically.  "If  ye  think  ye  need 
a  chaperon,  I'll  git  Bill's  moll,  Sally,  ter  show  ye 
home." 

"Nothin'  doin,'  Boss.  Needn't  bother  de  rag," 
grinned  Butch,  sheepishly,  "H'l  don't  think  h 'any- 
body'11  stick  me  h'up,  if  me  'ands  'olds  h'out — any- 
'ow  without  gittin'  rolled." 


THE  FRAME-UP  69 

"All  right  then,"  said  Hennessy  brusquely.  "Git 
a  move  on — an'  good  night  to  ye.  Hold  on  there! 
Go  out  that  way." 

As  Butch  was  about  to  pass  out  of  the  door  des- 
ignated by  the  Boss,  which  opened  directly  into  the 
alley,  Hennessy  gave  him  a  parting  word  of  un- 
questionably sound  advice. 

"Say,  Butch,  don't  do  any  more  spielin'  than  ye 
can  help.  The  bulls  might  trail  ye  by  some  o'  them 
dropped  h'aitches — an'  one  p'  them  h'aitches  might 
drop  on  yer  foot  an '  smash  it. ' ' 

"Don't  worry,  boss,  h'l  can  talk  h 'Irish  like  a 
bloomin'  Mick,  an'  not  'arf  try,  an'  begorra,"  he 
continued,  in  a  rich  Irish  brogue,  "Oi'll  be  afther 
thryin'  it  on  thim  Dagoes." 

"Good!"  laughed  Hennessy,  "You've  missed  yer 
callin'.  Harry  Hill  '11  catch  ye,  if  ye  don't  watch 
out." 

"  'Arry'll  'ave  ter  be  smarter 'n  them  blarsted 
bulls  h'if  'e  does,"  chuckled  Butch,  as  he  closed  the 
door  behind  him. 

Hennessy  lit  a  cigar  and  sat  gloomily  smoking  for 
a  few  moments  and  then  passed  out  into  the  dark 
alley  by  the  same  door  that  had  given  exit  to  Butch. 
As  he  reached  the  street,  a  few  rods  away,  he  mut- 
tered vindictively,  "I  reckon  I've  about  fixed  your 
clock  for  ye,  Mr.  Bob  Parkyn." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  STRIKE 

The  year  1877  was  a  gloomy  and  eventful  one  in 
the  industrial  and  economic  history  of  the  United 
States.  It  marked  with  blood  and  fire  the  record 
of  the  war  between  capital  and  labor  in  America, 
a  struggle  in  which  even  the  wisest  man  could  not 
form  a  just  opinion  of  the  proportions  of  right  and 
wrong  in  the  contentions  of  the  two  parties  to  the 
controversy. 

With  increasing  numerical  strength  and  power  of* 
labor  unions,  had  come  a  more  bitter  resentment  on 
the  part  of  the  wage-earning  proletariat  against  the 
increasing  aggressions  of  the  large  corporations  and 
capitalistic  interests  and  the  obvious  injustices 
heaped  by  them  upon  the  working  classes. 

Capital  had  been  the  national  bully  since  the  coun- 
try put  aside  its  swaddling  clothes  and  became  a  na- 
tion among  nations.  The  peevish  and  hungry  child 
whom  capital  had  been  wont  to  spank  and  starve 
into  submission  had  grown  up — labor  had  discov- 
ered that  it,  too,  had  power.  Labor  had  begun  like- 
wise to  comprehend  that  the  capitalistic  tail  had 
been  wagging  the  industrial  dog — the  worker.  Cap- 
ital still  insisted  that  it  was  the  dog  and  not  the  tail 
and  proposed  to  continue  to  do  the  wagging. 

Labor  also  had  come  to  the  just  conclusion  that  it 
was  entitled  to  something  more  than  the  wherewith- 


THE  STRIKE  71 

al  to  remain  on  the  earth — the  mere  food  and  shelter 
to  which  even  the  domestic  animals  are  entitled. 

There  seemed  to  be  at  least  three  versions  of  the 
Lord's  prayer — two  for  the  rich  and  one  for  the 
poor. 

4 'Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread"  would  have 
been  a  very  pretty  living  formula  for  the  poor  man, 
if  the  Lord  really  had  responded  to  his  modest  re- 
quest, or  even  if  it  had  not  been  interpreted  by 
the  capitalist  as  "Please,  Mr.  Capitalist,  let  us  work 
for  you  for  our  daily  bread,  part  of  the  time.  We 
of  course  should  starve  the  rest  of  the  time." 

Labor  possibly  might  have  been  more  reconciled 
to  the  foregoing  widely  different  versions  of  the 
Lord's  prayer  if  the  wealthy  class  had  not  formulat- 
ed a  special  version  for  themselves,  which  read: 
"Give  us,  0,  Lord,  our  daily  cake,  pie,  champagne 
and  oysters,  broiled  lobsters  and  deviled  crabs,  our 

frand  opera,  costly  equipages  and  gay  habiliments, 
or  we,  0,  Lord,  are  thine  annointed. ' ' 

Human  nature  is  just  about  the  same  on  both  sides 
of  any  given  social,  economic  or  religious  fence, 
and  labor,  like  capital,  no  sooner  felt  that  it  had  ar- 
rived at  some  degree  of  development  and  strength 
than  the  irritability  of  its  protest  against  injustice 
increased  an  hundredfold. 

"Capital  must  be  taught  its  lesson;  capital  must 
sit  up  and  take  notice ;  capital  must  make  terms  with 
labor" — and  so  a  new  bully  came  to  the  fore  and 
labor  began  to  seek  for  bones  of  contention  with  the 
capitalistic  bully  who  for  so  long  had  claimed  for 
his  very  own  this  fair  land  and  the  fulness  thereof. 

No  rebellion  is  logical  throughout — the  rebel  often 
runs  amok — and  every  industrial  or  capitalistic  ty- 
rant is  dangerous  to  the  peace  of  mind  of  any  com- 


72  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

munity  where  there  is  no  strong  and  impartial  hand 
to  fairly  and  squarely  adjust  differences. 

There  never  has  been  in  this  country  any  effective 
agency  to  preserve  harmony  in  our  industrial  and 
capitalistic  relations.  The  politicians  who  run  the 
government — municipal,  state  or  general — are  too 
busy  listening  to  the  seductive  blandishments  of 
capital  on  the  one  hand,  and  setting  traps  to  catch 
the  votes  of  labor  gudgeons  on  the  other — in  many 
instances  in  working  their  own  little  schemes  of 
graft — to  trouble  themselves  about  the  relative  jus- 
tice of  crucial  situations  in  the  industrial  world, 
hence  social  turmoil,  reactionary  movements,  strikes, 
riots,  hunger,  crime  and  vice  ever  wait  upon  indus- 
trial crises  in  this  country — as  in  every  other  the 
world  over,  where  there  exists  the  struggle  of  mass 
against  class. 

Possibly  it  is  too  much  to  expect  that  governments, 
most  of  which  are  so  anarchistic,  stupid  and  cruel 
that  war  still  is  the  bogey  man  of  all  nations  and 
wholesale  murder  a  fine  art,  should  show  intelligence 
in  industrial  regulation. 

Governments  have  billions  upon  billions  for  war. 
The  masses,  noting  this,  one  day  will  ask:  "Why, 
then,  should  there  be  poverty,  idleness  and  unem- 
ployment in  the  world!"  And  governments  will  be 
at  some  trouble  to  explain ;  lacking  both  explanation 
and  apology,  they  will  fall,  to  be  succeeded  by  a  new 
regime  of  greater  humanity  and  higher  intelligence. 

Even  in  these  later  and  better  days,  when  it  is 
beginning  to  dawn  upon  men  that  neither  capital 
nor  labor  can  stand  alone,  and  that  the  brotherhood 
of  man  is  close  to  the  fatherhood  of  God — and  the 
only  rational  foundation  for  social  betterment — ser- 


THE  STRIKE  73 

ious  troubles  arise  from  time  to  time.  Not  yet  is 
there  a  strong  and  wise  hand  to  separate  the  fight- 
ing under  and  upper  dogs,  dispense  equity  in  their 
social  and  economic  relations,  and  guide  them  into 
the  paths  of  peace  and  harmony  that  lead  to  the 
feast  of  reason  and  of  justice — to  the  haven  of  hope 
for  the  weary  and  heavy-laden,  where  the  picket  and 
the  scab  shall  cease  from  troubling  and  the  slugger 
shall  be  as  a  playful,  milk-white  lamb;  where  there 
shall  be  work  for  willing  hands  and  every  hand  shall 
be  willing ;  where  all  shall  be  given  their  daily  bread 
in  a  living  wage  and  each  shall  get  his  daily  rest — 
and  at  least  as  much  of  the  innocent  pleasures  of  life 
as  does  a  valuable  domestic  animal. 

The  church  has  not  greatly  helped  the  social  and 
economic  underdog — neither  the  Lord's  poor,  the 
devil's  poor  nor  the  poor  devil — it  merely  has  fed 
him  theologic  "soothing  syrup" — thus  officiating 
as  the  natural  ally  and  beneficiary  of  the  moneyed 
class.  The  poor  man  has  been  cajoled,  for  lo !  these 
many  generations,  by  the  promise  of  "mansions  in 
the  skies,"  in  which  the  rich  man  cannot  share — it 
being  ' '  easier  for  a  camel  to  pass  through  the  eye  of 
a  needle  than  for  the  rich  man  to  enter  the  Kingdom 
of  Heaven."  Riches  being  of  no  value  elsewhere 
than  here  on  earth — a  fact  which  the  fellow  who 
lacks  them  keenly  appreciates — the  underdog's  faith 
in  a  glorious  hereafter  has  not  been  greatly  enhanced 
by  the  celestial  boycott  of  the  wealthy. 

Slowly  but  surely  has  a  consciousness  of  the  fraud 
that  has  been  put  upon  them  permeated  the  minds 
of  those  whose  bread  must  be  earned  by  the  sweat 
of  their  brows.  They  gradually  have  awakened  to 
the  fact  that,  while  the  laborer  is  conceded  to  be 
"worthy  of  his  hire,"  he  is  thrice  welcome  to  his 


74  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"tire" — and  some  people  fain  would  limit  him  to 
that. 

Socialism  has  done  something  for  humanity,  and 
might  have  done  more- — for  every  altruist  is  to  a 
certain  degree  socialistic — but  like  every  other  doc- 
trinaire, the  "dyed  in  the  wool"  socialist  takes  him- 
self and  his  creed  too  seriously  and  tries  to  mold 
every  human  interest  and  thought  to  his  own  aca- 
demic theories.  A  creed  "in  the  saddle"  is  merely 
despotism  in  a  new  form. 

Like  the  religionist,  the  scientist,  the  politician 
and  the  party-member  in  politics,  the  would-be  soc- 
ial reformer  who  allows  himself  to  be  indelibly  la- 
beled, has  lost  his  intellectual  manumission  papers, 
is  the  slave  of  his  "brand"  and,  albeit  unconscious- 
ly, an  obstructionist. 

Society  is  a  sick  man,  but  for  him  there  is  no 
panacea — and  no  remedy,  save  a  higher  standard  of 
human  intelligence  acquired  through  the  slow  pro- 
cess of  evolution.  The  social  doctor  with  a  panacea 
and  the  revolutionist  alike  are  dangerous. 

Poor  old  Russia !  Caught  between  a  small  group 
of  idealists  and  fanatics  and  a  huge  mass  of  poverty- 
stricken,  erstwhile  booze-sodden,  priest-ridden,  ig- 
norant, semi-barbarians,  is  a  spectacle  for  gods  and 
men.  Whatever  of  good  there  may  be  in  the  new 
regime  is  likely  to  be  engulfed  in  the  blood  and  fire 
incidental  to  the  attempt  of  a  coterie  of  ill-balanced 
minds  to  force  their  theories  down  the  throats  of 
unready  millions — who  will  remain  unready  until 
evolution  gradually  has  illumined  the  furthermost  re- 
cesses of  their  semi-barbaric  minds. 

No  individual  idealist,  nor  any  group  of  idealists, 
has  brains  enough  to  handle  a  practical  problem  so 
huge  as  that  of  making  healthy  the  social  giant,  and 


THE  STRIKE  75 

if  the  social  quacks  are  not  careful,  they  will  so  over- 
dose him  that  his  condition  will  become  malignant 
and  fatal.  Social  progress,  like  a  substantial  house, 
is  slowly  built  up  a  brick  at  a  time — it  can  be  de- 
stroyed en  masse  in  a  moment. 

There  is  no  difference  in  principle,  between  the 
governmental  anarchists  who  make  bloody  and  in- 
human wars,  and  the  individual  anarchists  who 
throw  bombs.  Both  are  social,  moral  and  economic 
destructionists,  who  crack  the  thin  veneer  of  civili- 
zation and  show  that  we  all  are  barbarians  under 
the  skin. 

Female  suffrage  is  destined  to  acomplish  wonders 
of  social  advancement.  When  woman  once  is  thor- 
oughly awakened  she  will  battle  for  the  home,  for 
the  full  dinner  pail  and  for  clean  wholesome  habi- 
tations; for  cleanliness,  fresh  air  and  wholesome 
food  for  the  babies ;  she  will  fight  against  the  booze 
that  wrecks  health  and  morals;  she  will  fight  for 
substitutes  for  the  doggeries  and  gin-mills  that  once 
were  the  poor  man's  clubs — because,  forsooth,  he 
had  no  others — above  all,  she  will  fight  for  woman's 
right  to  be  guarded  from  the  peril  of  disease  that 
reaches  out  its  horrid  claws  and  fangs  from  the  red- 
light  district  to  cripple  or  destroy  her  and  to  blind, 
wreck  or  destroy  her  babies.  She  will  fight  for  the 
right  to  guard  herself — her  "natural  protector," 
man,  has  failed  her. 

Popular  educational  enlightenment  through  a 
fearless,  though  small,  fragment  of  the  public  press 
has  accomplished  marvels,  but  not  until  the  govern- 
ment has  discovered  and  taught  the  people  that  this 
fair  land  of  ours  belongs  to  no  class  and  is  not  for 
exploitation  by  the  few  at  the  expense  of  the  many, 
and  that  proper  and  harmonious  relations  between 


76  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

capital  and  labor  pay  best  in  the  end,  will  our  coun- 
try be  free  from  assaults  upon  the  equal  rights  of 
citizenship,  "guaranteed"  by  the  Constitution,  and 
from  social  and  industrial  upheavals.  Not  till  then 
will  the  automobiles  of  the  rich,  whether  idle  or 
voraciously  industrious,  cease  to  run  by  the  sweat 
of  the  toiling  and  suffering  millions,  exuded  in  hon- 
est, albeit  underpaid,  toil.  Not  till  then  will  the 
strike  picket,,  the  slugger,  the  walking  delegate  and 
the  capitalist  alike  cease  to  say:  "Thou  shalt  not 
work,  save  by  my  permission. ' ' 

The  great  railroad  strike  that  began  in  July,  1877, 
was  a  culmination  of  a  series  of  differences  between 
the  labor  unions  and  the  railroads.  It  was  one  of 
the  earliest  of  the  great  struggles  for  human  liberty 
and  simple  justice  in  the  industrial  fields  of  this 
country — one  of  the  first  supreme  tests  of  strength 
between  aggregated  wealth  and  power,  and  labor. 

Much  property  was  destroyed  and  much  blood  was 
shed.  Many  outrages  were  committed  on  both  sides 
and  alas!  the  momentous  questions  at  issue  were 
not  even  then  destined  to  be  finally  settled,  as  wit- 
ness the  Homestead  strike  in  1892,  and  the  great 
railroad  strike  in  1894,  which  paralyzed  business, 
destroyed  millions  of  dollars  of  property,  cost  many 
valuable  lives  and  caused  untold  suffering,  and  in 
which  one  great  democrat,  Grover  Cleveland,  clashed 
with  another  and  greater  democrat,  John  P.  Altgeld, 
both  men  proving  themselves  to  be  moral  heroes, 
doing  their  duty  according  to  their  lights — and  both 
being  right  in  the  premises  and  under  the  then  ex- 
isting conditions. 

Still  later  came  the  miners '  war  in  Colorado,  and 
the  awful  conditions  prevailing  in  the  mining  dis- 


THE  STRIKE  77 

trict  of  West  Virginia,  where  we  beheld  the  all  too 
familiar  spectacle  of  government  aiding  the  capi- 
talistic Shylock  in  his  eager  quest  of  the  industrial 
pound  of  flesh.  Would  that  the  capitalistic  Shylock 
had  been  content  with  his  portion  of  flesh — but  no, 
he  demanded  his  oceans  of  blood  and  tears,  drawn 
from  old  men,  weak  women,  babes  and  cripples — 
and  now  the  worm  has  turned;  labor  has  climbed 
into  the  saddle  and  bids  fair  to  ride  to  the  devil. 

The  railroad  war  was  spreading  rapidly.  The 
tie-up  was  fast  becoming  general,  and  the  press  re- 
ports were  causing  great  unrest  among  the  men  em- 
ployed on  the  Central  at  A  .  .  .,  when  there  came 
the  news  of  the  clash  in  Pennsylvania  between  the 
strikers  and  the  militia.  The  crack  military  organi- 
zation of  a  certain  large  city  had  been  marooned  in 
a  round-house,  until  it  suited  the  humor  of  the  strik- 
ers to  force  the  soldiers  to  capitulate  and  lay  down 
their  arms,  after  which  the  mob  had  chased  them 
in  ignominious  flight  to  the  very  gates  of  their  home 
city,  much  as  the  troops  who  fought  those  other 
rebels  at  Bull  Eun  were  driven  back  to  the  national 
capital,  in  utter  rout  and  complete  disgrace. 

The  victory  over  the  military  was  the  last  straw 
that  broke  the  back  of  the  law-and-order  camel.  The 
flood  gates  of  riot  and  disorder  were  opened  and 
the  war  became  general  all  over  the  country.  The 
strikers,  with  the  exhilarating  smell  of  battle  in 
their  nostrils,  and  flushed  with  temporary  success, 
grew  more  and  more  exacting  and  turbulent  than 
ever. 

The  experienced  foreman,  John  Halloran,  had 
seen  the  storm  coming  and  knew  that  he  soon  would 
have  to  submit  to  the  inevitable,  and  that  he  must 


78  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

maintain  as  friendly  relations  as  possible  between 
the  road  and  its  humble  employes  on  the  construc- 
tion work,  if  he  would  save  life  and  property.  He 
feared  not  man  or  devil,  but  he  felt  that  the  sit- 
uation he  was  about  to  face  was  one  to  be  handled 
by  diplomacy,  not  by  force.  Fortunately  the  stal- 
wart foreman  was  popular  with  the  hands,  which 
made  his  task  of  keeping  his  men  in  good  humor 
much  easier  than  it  otherwise  would  have  been. 

In  Bob  Parkyn,  Halloran  found  a  courageous,  in- 
telligent and  willing  aid.  The  men  liked  and  respect- 
ed the  young  superintendent.  They  knew  that  he 
was  no  feather-bed  soldier  of  industry.  They  knew 
also  that  he  was  fearless  and  able  to  cope  with  any 
situation  requiring  nerve  and  muscle,  as  several 
turbulent  fellows  had  discovered  to  their  cost.  His 
influence  therefore  was  of  great  assistance  to  the 
foreman  in  keeping  the  men  satisfied  and  good 
natured. 

But  the  inevitable  happened.  A  walking  delegate 
of  the  railroad  laborers'  union  arrived  one  evening, 
and  when  midnight  came,  by  great  industry  had 
most  of  the  men  lined  up  for  the  strike.  By  ten 
o'clock  next  morning  every  man  had  been  won  or 
frightened  over,  and,  at  a  signal  from  the  agitator, 
dropped  his  tools  and  quit  work. 

''Well,  Mr.  Parkyn,  it's  come  at  last,"  said  Hal- 
loran glumly  to  the  young  superintendent.  "I  wish 
it  could  ha '  been  staved  off  for  a  week  or  two  longer. 
We'd  ha'  been  in  pretty  good  shape  to  play  a  waitin' 
game  and  let  the  thing  simmer  until  the  fire  went 
out — as  it  surely  will  before  long.  The  poor  devils ' ' 
— he  looked  cautiously  around  to  see  if  there  was  any 
danger  of  being  overheard — "Well;  they  ain't  en- 


THE  STEIKE  79 

tirely  wrong,  anyway  you  can  figure  it,  but  an  empty 
belly  is  an  awful  obstacle  to  a  man's  gettin'  Ms 
rights. ' ' 

"Let  us  be  thankful  that  the  men  are  good-natured 
and  peaceable.  It's  merely  a  sympathetic  strike 
on  the  part  of  our  felows,  anyway,"  commented 
Parkyn. 

"They're  peaceable  enough  so  far,  but  wait  till 
they  get  hungry, ' '  returned  Halloran.  ' l  Believe  me, 
Mr.  Parkyn,  if  anything  ever  does  start  there's 
goin'  to  be  hell  to  pay  an'  no  pitch  hot.  Every  man 
jack  o'  them  Guineas  totes  a  gun  or  stiletto — an'  he 
don't  carry  it  for  any  decorative  purposes  either. 
They're  holy  terrors  in  a  scrap,  once  they  get  start- 
ed, an'  when  their  blood's  up,  they'd  shoot  their 
own  brothers  or  sock  a  knife  into  their  own  grand- 
mothers. Scrap!  You  just  bet  they  can  scrap,  an' 
don't  you  forget  it!  They're  good-natured  enough 
when  you  let  'em  alone  an'  don't  get  'em  mad,  or 
jealous  over  a  woman,  but  if  you  dp  they're  bug- 
house sure.  They  run  a What  is  it  them  nig- 
gers over  in  Asia  does  when  they  get  crazy  on  some 
kind  o'  hop  they  eat  in  that  God-forsaken  country?" 

"You  mean  the  Malays,"  answered  Parkyn.  "As 
they  say  over  there,  when  the  brown-skinned  beggars 
get  full  of  hasheesh,  they  run  'amok'  and  take  a 
stab  at  everybody  in  sight." 

"That's  it — much  obliged,  Mr.  Parkyn,"  contin- 
ued the  foreman.  ''Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  when  them 
foreign  fellers  get  riled  an'  run  amuck,  there's 
things  a  doin'.  'Twouldn't  be  so  bad  if  they'd  only 
fight  fair,  once  in  a  while,  but  guns  and  knives  for 
a  steady  habit  is  rotten  work.  Get  into  a  mixup 
with  one  o'  them  ginks,  an'  unless  you  get  him  quick 


80  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

an*  get  him  good,  it's  all  day  with  you.  He'll  get 
you  sure,  either  right  then  an'  there,  or  later,  when 
you  ain't  lookin,  an'  ain't  expectin'  no  trouble. 

"An'  that's  not  the  worst,"  Hallo  ran  went  on; 
"the  black-faced  cusses  stand  together  like  a  lot  o' 

them  Five  Points  gangsters,  or  a  parcel  o'  d d 

Chinamen.  You  can't  get  anything  out  of  'em,  ex- 
cept jabber.  They  won't  give  up  nothin'.  State's 
evidence  don't  go  with  them,  not  a  bit  of  it.  They 
take  shootin'  an'  stabbin'  as  part  o'  their  constitu- 
tional rights,  an'  as  the  fellers  who  do  the  stunts, 
an'  most  o'  the  fellers  that  gets  hurt,  is  all  in  the 
fam'ly,  they  think  it's  nobody's  business  but  their 
own.  As  for  the  guy  outside  o'  the  family  who  gets 
a  Dago's  knife  or  bullet  into  him,  why — what  the 
hell?"  and  the  foreman  spat  disgustedly  over  the 
railing  of  the  veranda. 

"It  would  seem,  Mr.  Halloran,"  replied  Bob,  "that 
there's  really  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  sit  tight  and 
jolly  the  men  into  continued  good  behavior.  I  hope 
that  walking  delegate  party  will  get  away  before  he 
stirs  up  trouble.  Confound  the  fellow!  I'd  like  to 
put  him  on  a  hand-car  and  make  him  pump  his  own 
way  back  to  New  York." 

"So  would  I,  Mr.  Parkyn,"  growled  the  foreman, 
morosely,  "but  I  don't  think  it  would  be  safe  to 
try  it.  Walkin'  delegates  and  prophets  musn't  be 
monkeyed  with — unless  you  want  a  row  with  their 
disciples.  There's  another  chap  I'm  more  afraid 
of  than  I  am  o'  that  walkin'  delegate,  an'  that's 
O'Connor,  a  feller  who  came  up  last  week  with  the 
batch  o'  new  men." 

"O'Connor?  Don't  believe  I've  noticed  him. 
What  sort  of  looking  fellow  is  he?"  asked  Parkyn. 

"He's  a  tough-lookin'  bird  all  right.     There  he 


THE  STRIKE  81 

goes  now — you  can  size  him  up  for  yourself,"  and 
the  scowling  foreman  nodded  his  head  toward  a  man 
who  was  just  slouching  past. 

"So  that's  O'Connor,  eh?"  asked  Parkyn. 

"Yes;  anyway  that's  what  he  calls  himself.  But 
if  he's  an  Irishman,  I'm  a  Chinaman.  He  drops  an 
aitch  every  once  in  a  while,  like  any  cockney.  His 
brogue  is  a  fake,  I'm  thinkin'.  I'll  bet  even  money 
he's  a  crook." 

"That's  odd,"  mused  the  superintendent;  "won- 
der what  he's  up  to?" 

' '  Nothin '  professional,  I  reckon.  This  town  would 
be  pretty  poor  pickin '  for  a  New  York  gun.  Perhaps 
he's  some  feller  that  Hennessy  sent  up  here  for  the 
'good  of  the  order,'  as  we  say  in  lodge.  He  has  a 
raft  o'  tough  mugs  lookin'  after  his  political  fences. 
Then  the  police  may  want  0  'Connor.  The  boss  has 
a  lot  o'  friends  an'  hangers-on  like  that." 

"Which  may  explain  his  being  an  Irish-English- 
man, Mr.  Halloran, ' '  laughed  Parkyn. 

"Yes,  an'  also  his  tryin'  to  stir  up  trouble.  That 
kind  has  to  be  doin'  some  sort  o'  dirty  work  to  keep 
well,  an'  if  I'm  next  to  him,  an'  I'll  bet  I  am,  time 
must  be  hangin '  pretty  heavy  on  his  hands  up  here. 
Honest  labor's  mighty  tryin'  to  his  kind." 

The  man  alluded  to  just  then  turned  squarely  to- 
ward the  two  so  that  they  got  a  full  view  of  him. 

"Holy  smoke !"  exclaimed  Halloran,  "look  at  them 
hands  and  shoulders — an'  that  lovely  mug!  His 
face  looks  like  a  map  o'  the  Five  Points!" 

The  man  noticed  that  he  was  under  observation 
and  nonchalantly  putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
lazily  slouched  away,  whistling  a  popular  air,  and 
was  lost  in  the  crowd  of  workmen  gathered  on  the 
river  bank. 


82  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Butch  had  carried  out  the  boss's  instructions  to 
the  letter.  He  had  landed  at  A  ...  smoothly 
enough  and  was  put  to  work  with  the  rest  of  the 
gang.  His  liking  for  his  prospective  job  of  strong- 
arm  work,  which  was  not  any  too  ardent  at  the  start, 
was  not  increased  by  the  ride  up  river  on  the  work- 
train  of  the  Central  with  a  lot  of  jabbering  ''Guin- 
eas" whose  language  was  unintelligible  to  him.  Al- 
though usually  about  as  timid  and  vacillating  as  a 
bulldog,  when  on  a  job  from  which  his  low  cunning 
could  eliminate  all  danger  to  himself,  Butch  did  not 
set  about  his  present  mission  with  any  degree  of  as- 
surance. His  recent  narrow  escape  from  doing  a 
stretch  for  the  Jersey  City  job  had  temporarily 
shaken  him  up  pretty  badly.  He  never  did  take  phil- 
osophically the  accidents  and  vicissitudes  of  his  pro- 
fession. 

By  the  time  the  thug  arrived  in  A  ...  his 
feet  were  as  cold  as  those  of  an  amateur  preparing  to 
"stick  up"  his  first  "boob."  They  did  not  grow 
warmer  as  time  passed  without  an  opportunity  to 
carry  out  his  designs  upon  the  young  superintend- 
ent. 

Honest  physical  labor  is  very  depressing  to  men 
of  the  Harris  type.  Their  fibre,  while  apparently 
strong,  is  not  adapted  to  the  continued  effort,  and 
novelty  of  muscular  exertion  is  very  fatiguing.  Al- 
though he  soldiered  on  the  job,  Butch  felt  that  he 
was  undergoing  a  punishment  like  unto  work  on  the 
rock  pile  at  "the  island."  This  did  not  add  to  the 
strength  of  the  thug's  resolution  to  fulfill  his  con- 
tract with  Bull  Hennessy,  nor  to  his  respect  for 
boobs  who  work  for  their  daily  bread. 

Another  factor  in  undermining  his  resolution,  now 
so  "sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought,"  was 


THE  STRIKE  83 

his  inborn  streak  of  "yellow."  Men  like  Butch  Har- 
ris always  are  rank  dung-hills  at  bottom. 

Under  some  conditions  the  sons  of  Ishmael  are 
like  children  in  the  dark,  afraid  of  their  shadows. 
The  sense  of  being  hunted  and  belonging  to  the  un- 
popular and  hated  minority  in  a  world  that  resents 
his  getting  a  living  by  his  wits — a  living  which  he 
justly  believes  is  coming  to  him  without  his  giving 
in  return  the  conventional  quid  pro  quo  of  social 
and  individual  service — finally  gets  on  the  nerves 
of  the  boldest  criminal. 

Then,  too,  Butch  Harris  was  lonesome ;  and  who  is 
not  depressed  by  loneliness?  Among  the  people 
about  him  there  was  not  one  kindred  spirit,  and  men 
of  his  type  need  the  stimulus  of  companionship  of 
their  own  evil  kind.  They  need  the  crowd-courage 
of  association  with  brothers  of  their  own  profession 
in  its  various  branches.  Even  the  soldier,  marching 
into  action,  gets  inspiration  and  courage  from  the 
touch  of  his  comrades '  elbows.  That  is  why  the  av- 
erage man  is  a  hero  on  the  battle  field — and  nowhere 
else. 

The  predatory  animal,  however  fierce,  who  is  at- 
tacked by  an  enemy,  is  thrice  armed  when  he  knows 
that  his  own  lair  is  near,  for  there  lies  safety,  if 
he  can  but  reach  it.  The  sneaking  fox  is  boldest 
near  his  burrow.  The  criminal  also  likes  to  keep 
close  to  his  base. 

The  large  city  is  the  crook's  choice  of  base,  for 
there  he  has  many  lairs,  many  burrows,  and  dens 
Where  only  a  thief  can  catch  a  thief  and  where  com- 
rades stand  together,  because  they  must.  Ages  and 
ages  ago,  criminals  well  learned  the  lesson  that 
"those  who  have"  are  opposed,  not  only  to  the  in- 
dividual criminal,  but  to  all  criminals.  Even  in  the 


84  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

childhood  of  this  time-worn  world,  the  Children  of 
Ishmael  instinctively  banded  together  in  an  offensive 
and  defensive  alliance  against  law-abiding  folk  that 
will  last  till  the  human  race  itself  is  no  more. 

Another  lesson  which  is  taught  the  criminal  early 
in  his  professional  career  is  the  old  one  that  "dead 
men  tell  no  tales. '  '  Honest  people  are  not  the  only 
ones  who  mysteriously  disappear  forever,  or  are 
found  in  the  river  or  in  dark  corners  of  our  large 
cities,  dead  of  causes  and  persons  "unknown."  In 
the  underworld  there  also  is  the  apparently  im- 
promptu brawl  and  the  shot  or  the  stab  with  a 
clean  "get-away"  for  the  murderer  of  his  fellow 
crook.  The  wages  of  "snitching"  is  death,  and 
there  are  as  many  ways,  of  disposing  of  informers 
in  crookdom  as  there  are  of  skinning  the  traditional 
cat. 

The  new  and  strange  environment  in  which  Butch 
Harris  found  himself  was  disturbing  in  another  re- 
spect. In  New  York  there  was  the  atmosphere  of 
official  protection  and  tolerance  that  is  so  essential 
to  crime,  politics,  and  a  well-regulated  and  prosper- 
ous police  system,  which  was  lacking  in  A  ... 

Butch  knew  that  in  the  matter  of  criticism  of  bad 
behavior,  "rubes,"  as  his  class  termed  citizens  of 
small  towns,  often  were  men  of  quick-working  per- 
spicacity who  were  wont  to  go  straight  to  the  mark. 
This  directness  and  lack  of  intelligent  appreciation 
of  opportunities  for  graft  sometimes  pervaded  the 
entire  legal  system  in  rural  districts,  affecting  con- 
stables, judges  and  prosecuting  attorneys  alike.  He 
of  course  over-rated  the  social  purity  and  square- 
dealing  spirit  of  rural  communities,  and  Boss  Hen- 
nessy  had  not  deemed  it  prudent  to  "put  him  wise." 

The  nearness  of  A    ...    to  Sing  Sing  possibly 


THE  STRIKE  85 

had  something  to  do  with  disturbing  the  morale  of 
Mr.  Harris.  The  gentleman  with  the  many  aliases 
had  noted  that  the  prison  was  frightfully  near,  and 
it  was  so  suggestive,  not  only  of  long  "stretches," 
but  also  of  short  ones  with  the  artistic  slip-knot 
under  a  gentleman's  left  ear! 

Butch  found  himself  reconciled  to  the  lack  of  op- 
portunity to  "cook"  young  Parkyn.  He  even  had 
begun  to  frame  up  excuses  for  a  complete  failure, 
wondering  the  while  how  he  ever  could  explain  his 
"fluke"  to  Boss  Hennessy's  satisfaction,  when  luck 
smiled  on  him  once  more.  The  strike  came  and 
gave  him  an  opportunity  to  mature  a  plan  that  had 
been  slowly  crystallizing  in  his  mind  for  some  days, 
and  in  furtherance  of  which  he  had  been  doing  his 
best  to  create  dissatisfaction  and  excite  animosities 
among  his  soi  disant  fellow  workmen. 

Recalling  numerous  brawls  in  lower  New  York, 
into  which  marked  men  had  been  drawn  and  out  of 
which  they  emerged,  feet  first,  on  a  stretcher 
en  route  to  the  morgue,  Butch  decided  fo  change  the 
program  mapped  out  by  Hennessy.  In  coming  to 
this  decision  he  felt  confident  that,  if  he  succeeded 
in  getting  his  man,  the  Boss  would  be  so  well  satis- 
fied with  results  that  he  would  not  question  the 
method  employed — which  method  was  a  popular  and 
effective  one  in  Mr.  Hennessy's  own  bailiwick  and  oc- 
casionally had  been  of  great  service  to  that  astute 
person  himself. 

The  more  he  thought  about  it  the  more  attractive 
to  the  crook  seemed  the  plan  by  which  he  hoped  to 
get  somebody  else  to  pull  his  chestnuts  out  of  the 
fire.  The  prospect  which  the  plan  offered  of  a  clean 
get-away  without  the  least  risk  of  being  caught 
"with  the  dead  sheep  over  his  shoulder,"  was  par- 


86  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

ticularly  attractive,  even  fascinating  to  Butch,  and 
moreover,  it  was  so  clever  in  conception,  so  artistic 
in  method  and  bade  fair  to  be  so  satisfactory  in 
results  that  it  appealed  to  his  professional  pride. 
Above  all — and  this  loomed  large  on  the  Strang- 
ler's  mental  horizon — it  was  so  safe,  if  he  only 
could  "pull  it  h'off  without  a  'itch." 


CHAPTER  VII 

TROUBLE  BEGINS  BREWING 

For  several  days  after  the  strike  was  called  at 
A  ...  an  atmosphere  of  peace  and  quiet  per- 
vaded the  village.  It  was  as  if  the  proverbial  col- 
orless Sunday  of  the  little  old-fashioned  burg  had 
been  continued  into  the  week. 

The  majestic  Hudson  still  flowed  placidly  on  its  way 
to  the  sea,  the  foliage  on  the  mountains  was  as  vivid- 
ly green  as  of  yore  and  the  same  blue  summer  haze, 
above  which  floated  foam-white  clouds,  hung  lazily 
about  the  mountain  tops  as  of  old. 

The  birds  sang  in  the  trees  as  blithely  as  ever, 
and  the  tall,  many-colored,  democratic  hollyhocks 
in  the  little  front  yards  of  the  cottages  fringing  the 
river  road,  sleepily  nodded  their  hearty  approval 
of  the  summer  of  their  sweet  content. 

Nature  concerns  not  herself  with  the  affairs  of 
mankind.  His  hopes,  fears,  joys,  sorrows,  and  his 
economic  and  other  social  disturbances  are  naught 
to  her.  If  her  foolish  children  cannot  agree  as  to 
what  constitutes  a  living  wage,  she  does  not  worry. 
She  gave  him  a  heart  to  feel  for  his  fellow-man  and 
a  brain  to  govern  that  heart,  and  if  he  chooses  to 
harden  the  one  and  obliquely  reason  with  the  other, 
what  cares  she? 

If  man  elects  to  deny  his  lowly  brother  the  where- 
withal to  feed  the  hungry  mouths  of  his  woman  and 


88  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

children  and  protect  them  and  himself  from  "the 
slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune,"  Nature 
smiles  or  frowns,  as  the  mood  pleases  her,  unmind- 
ful of  the  oppressions  and  sorrows  of  her  human 
creatures. 

If  the  under-dog  in  the  battle  of  life  chooses  to  com- 
bat the  upper-dog  by  adding  to  his  own  woes,  whilst 
trying  to  get  a  fighting  chance  to  lessen  those  woes, 
Nature  is  content  to  be  a  disinterested  bystander, 
attending  strictly  to  her  own  affairs. 

Long,  long  before  Puck,  the  philosopher,  wise 
creature  of  Shakespeare's  brain — or  was  it  Ba- 
con's?— Mother  Nature  watched  the  passing  human 
show  and  cried,  "What  fools  these  mortals  be!" 

"Fools?"  Aye,  what  helpless  fools  the  sun  and 
moon  and  stars  of  heaven  have  shone  upon  since  the 
natal  day  of  this  worn  old  world ! 

What  fools  have  caressed  or  been  caressed,  killed 
or  been  killed ! 

What  fools  have  rains  beaten  upon,  fires  consumed 
and  waters  drowned ! 

What  fools  have  trodden  upon  the  necks  of  other 
fools,  who  have  turned  like  the  traditional  worm  and 
bitten  the  heel  that  would  destroy  them! 

What  fools  have  said,  "I  am  not  my  brother's 
keeper" — and  what  other  fools  have  cried,  "Thou 
art  thy  brother's  keeper  and  he  will  strike  and  show 
thee!" 

Nature  was  as  indifferent  to  the  troubles  of  the 
sons  of  toil  at  A  .  .  .,  of  the  corporation  most 
concerned  and  of  the  public — the  ultimate  victim  of 
every  economic  and  social  disturbance — as  she  ever 
has  been  to  humanity's  woes  from  the  beginning. 

Strike?  What  knows  she  of  strikes — and  what 
cares  she? 


TEOUBLE  BEGINS  BREWING  89 

Wages?  What  are  wages  to  her?  She  pays  no 
wages  save  those  of  sin,  and  they  nourish  and  clothe 
neither  women  nor  babes,  but  take  the  bread  from 
out  their  mouths. 

The  people  of  the  village  had  returned  to  their 
usual  lethargy  and  their  interest  in  strikes  and 
strikers  had  fallen  to  zero.  Figuratively,  when  the 
strike  first  was  called  they  "sat  up  and  looked 
around"  with  languid  interrogation,  but  as  soon  as 
it  seemed  evident  that  there  was  nothing  exciting 
in  the  wind,  they  completely  lost  interest  and  lapsed 
into  their  ordinary  placid  satisfaction  with  the  world 
and  everything  in  it. 

Even  the  mongrel  dogs  of  the  streets  were  lazier 
than  was  their  habit.  They  knew  nothing  of  eco- 
nomic disturbances  and  cared  less,  and  the  strikers 
interested  them  not  at  all.  The  bones  that  the  labor- 
ers had  thrown  to  them — like  the  bones  which  capital 
had  thrown  to  the  men  themselves — had  been  so 
cleanly  picked  that  the  railroad  hands  had  not  fav- 
orably impressed  the  town  dogs,  hence  there  had 
been  no  bond  of  sympathy  between  them  and  the 
workmen.  If  the  canines  thought  about  the  matter 
at  all,  the  strike  probably  did  not  appeal  to  them 
as  affecting  their  own  selfish  interests — an  attitude 
which  would  have  been  nearly  human. 

For  a  time  the  strikers  in  general  were  as  peace- 
ful and  orderly  as  the  most  exacting,  law-abiding 
citizen  could  have  wished.  Some  of  the  more  un- 
stable of  the  motley  elements  comprising  the  rail- 
road gang  were,  it  is  true,  a  bit  fiery  in  their  remarks 
and  gesticulations  whenever  the  men  gathered  in 
little  knots  to  discuss  the  situation.  This  was  not 
remarkable,  however,  in  an  aggregation  of  men  in 


90  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

the  veins  of  most  of  whom  ran  the  warm  and  tem- 
peramentally excitable  blood  of  the  Latin  or  of  the 
Slavonic  races. 

John  Halloran  aptly,  if  facetiously,  expressed  the 
situation  to  Superintendent  Parkyn  in  this  wise : 

"Some  o'  them  fellers,  especially  the  Guineas, 
couldn  't  talk  at  all  if  their  hands  was  tied,  anyhow, 
without  usin'  every  muscle  in  their  bodies ;  no  more'n 
a  Chatham  street  Jew  could  show  a  suit  of  clothes 
to  a  customer  without  workin'  his  mouth  an'  every- 
thing else  that's  movable  at  the  same  time — unless 
you  chloroformed  him.  One  time  I  saw  a  feller  grab 
one  o'  them  Jews,  who  was  tryin'  to  sell  a  coat  to 
him,  by  his  mitt,  an'  the  Jew  was  struck  dumb  as  an 
oyster.  He  didn't  round  up  again  until  the  feller 
let  go,  so  that  Ikey  could  get  in  his  hand- work  again. ' ' 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  rejoined  Parkyn, 
thoughtfully,  "but  I'm  beginning  to  be  a  trifle  wor- 
ried, just  the  same.  Time  will  be  hanging  pretty 
heavily  on  their  hands  before  this  strike  is  over, 
and  those  lads  are  likely  to  get  to  drinking  too  much. 
I've  seen  a  number  of  them  today  who  were  a  bit 
soused.  Idleness,  as  the  old  proverb  says,  is  the 
Mother  of  Mischief,  and  when  she's  married  to  a 
grievance — and  most  of  those  fellows  think,  more 
or  less  justly,  that  they  have  a  fine  assortment  of 
grievances — a  dangerous  brood  of  emphatic  pro- 
tests is  likely  to  result.  A  few  ugly  strikers  form  a 
fine  nucleus  for  an  uncontrollable  mob. 

"There's  another  thing  that  bothers  me,"  con- 
tinued Parkyn.  "Have  you  noticed  O'Connor's  ac- 
tions?" 

' '  0  'Connor  f ' '  queried  Halloran.  D  'ye  mean  that 
fake  Irishman  that  I  said  drops  his  aitches  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  that's  the  man." 


TEOUBLE  BEGINS  BEEWING  91 

11  What's  he  been  doinT'  asked  the  foreman,  with 
a  hostile  glint  in  his  eye. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  like  to  swear  that  he  actually 
has  done  anything,  yet,"  replied  Parkyn,  "but,  un- 
less I'm  greatly  mistaken,  he's  trying  to  foment 
trouble  among  the  men.  Then,  too,  he's  standing 
treat  a  little  oftener  than  looks  natural  for  an  ordi- 
nary laborer.  He  seems  to  be  spending  more  money 
than  a  hard-working  Irish  railroad  hand  reasonably 
should  have  in  his  possession." 

"So?"  answered  Halloran  interestedly,  "I  won- 
der if  by  any  chance  he 's  a  union  agent,  working  on 
the  quiet." 

"Possibly,  Mr.  Halloran,  but,  whatever  he  is,  he's 
acting  very  suspiciously.  There  he  is  now,  making 
a  speech  to  that  group  of  men  on  the  pier.  I  may  be 
wrong,  but  I  don't  think  he's  either  preaching  to 
them,  or  the  other  extreme,  discussing  politics." 

For  a  moment  Halloran  surveyed  the  group  and 
the  man  indicated;  and  then  said  slowly: 

"He  don't  seem  to  be  holdin'  a  Salvation  Army 
meetin ',  that 's  a  fact.  Beckon  I  'd  better  be  strollin ' 
down  there  an'  get  into  the  game.  I  might  hear 
somethin'  interestin' — about  myself,  like  as  not," 
and  the  foreman  laughed  as  he  started  toward  the 
pier. 

"  Be  careful,  Halloran,  don't  apply  the  match  to 
the  fuse,"  warned  Parkyn.  "If  that  fellow's  up 
to  mischief,  he  'd  like  nothing  better  than  to  have  you 
give  him  a  grievance." 

"Never  fear,  Mr.  Parkyn,  I'll  not  be  startin' 
anythin.'  That  fake  Irishman  'd  better  not  start 
anythin'  either.  If  he  does,  I'll  finish  it  by  changin' 
his  map  for  him.  I  don't  like  him  any  too  well, 
anyhow,  an'  I  wouldn't  mind  handin'  him  a  wallop 


92  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

an'  turnin'  his  block  t'other  way  round.  See  you 
later— at  the  hotel." 

Resolved  to  put  in  his  own  oar  if  trouble  really 
started,  Parkyn  watched  the  foreman  narrowly  as 
the  latter  strolled  leisurely  down  to  the  pier 
and  engaged  0  'Connor  in  conversation.  He  plainly 
saw,  from  the  actions  of  the  two  that  Halloran  was 
having  some  difficulty  in  controlling  his  temper.  He 
noted  also  that  the  men  in  the  group  looked  on  sul- 
lenly, some  of  them  scowling  with  evident  hostility 
at  the  foreman. 

Halloran  concluded  his  errand  and  repaired  to 
the  hotel  veranda,  where  he  was  joined  by  the  young 
engineer. 

"It's  dollars  to  doughnuts  that  you're  right,  Mr. 
Parkyn,"  said  the  foreman,  "that  fellow  is  a  trou- 
ble-maker sure,  an'  he's  been  gettin'  in  his  fine  work. 
I  had  troubles  of  me  own,  keepin'  me  hands  tied  be- 
hind me  back  whilst  I  was  talkin'  to  him.  I  could 
ha'  had  a  scrap  with  the  blackguard  without  half 
tryin' — if  I  had  defended  the  corporations  an'  th' 
aristocracy,  which  he  was  layin'  out  for  the  benefit 
of  them  Guineas.  They  probably  couldn't  tell  what 
he  was  drivin'  at,  but  they're  ready  to  cry  'down' 
with  anything  and  everybody  that  anybody  sicks  'em 
onto, ' '  and  he  chuckled  at  the  humor  of  the  thing. 

"He's  a  tough  mug,  if  I  know  the  signs,"  con- 
tinued Halloran,  "an'  he  looks  as  if  he  could  go  some 
himself.  The  men  he's  talkin'  to  are  pretty  sour, 
an'  some  o'  those  wops  have  got  quite  a  package 
aboard,  this  very  minute.  We're  in  for  trouble  be- 
fore we  get  through,  sure  as  shootin'." 

"Let  us  hope  that  we're  both  wrong,  Halloran," 
replied  Parkyn,  "but  we'd  better  keep  wide  awake 


TEOUBLE  BEGINS  BEEWING  93 


and  on  the  job  right  along.  It  won't  do  to  be  caught 
napping. ' ' 

" Eight  you  are,  Mr.  Parkyn.  An'  be  the  same 
token,  I'm  mighty  glad  Maggie  ain't  here  just  now." 

"So  am  I,"  coincided  Parkyn,  soberly.  "This 
town  will  be  no  place  for  young  ladies,  if  those  fel- 
lows once  start  after  trouble. 

"By  the  way,  Halloran,"  he  went  on,  earnestly, 
"I  wonder  if  we  could  induce  the  powers  that  be  in 
this  little  burg,  to  close  that  groggery  of  Han- 
ton's  until  the  strike  is  over." 

The  young  engineer  had  no  wide  range  of  exper- 
ience behind  him,  but  he  had  seen  enough  of  the 
world  to  know  that  when  time  hangs  heavily  on  the 
hands  of  men  who  have  no  intellectual  resources, 
they  take  to  liquor  as  naturally  as  a  duck  does  to 
water. 

"Close  Hanton's  doggery!"  exclaimed  Halloran, 
"why,  you  might  as  well  try  to  close  up  Wall  Street. 
Everybody  knows  it's  a  nest  o'  swindlers  an'  bunk 
artists,  but  if  anybody  ever  tries  to  close  it,  he'll 
have  the  time  of  his  life.  New  York  likes  the  ex- 
citement o'  speculatin'  an'  it  helps  circulate  the 
money.  Besides,  there's  politics  behind  it.  Same 
here  in  this  little  old  one-horse  place. ' ' 

The  foreman  laughed  satirically. 

"I  dare  say,"  he  continued,  "that  if  the  truth 
was  known,  Hanton's  landlord  is  a  deacon  in  the 
church.  Anyhow,  that  dump  is  political  headquar- 
ters for  this  neck  o'  the  woods.  Shut  up  Hanton's 
joint?  Forget  it,  my  friend — forget  it!  We'll  get 
plumb  up  against  it,  if  we  try  to  hand  out  any  o' 
that  blue-nose  dope  here." 

"All  the  same,  I  propose  to  try  it,"  replied  Par- 


94  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

kyn,  determinedly.  "I'm  going  to  call  on  the  au- 
thorities this  afternoon,  and  then,  if  I  get  no  satis- 
faction, I'll  visit  Brother  Hanton  himself,  and  see 
if  I  can  do  a  little  missionary  work  with  him. ' ' 

"Blaze  away,  me  friend — I  like  yer  nerve,"  re- 
joined Halloran,  cynically,  "but  it'll  get  you  nothin' 
from  the  authorities  but  a  frost,  an'  nothin'  from 
Hanton,  unless  it's  a  laugh — or  p'raps  worse,  for 
he's  some  grouch,  take  it  from  me,  an'  has  a  temper 
cut  on  th'  bias  out  o'  the  brittlest  piece  o'  thin  green 
glass  you  ever  saw  splintered. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Parkyn,"  he  asked,  "do  you 
by  any  chance  happen  to  have  a  gun  on  ye  I " 

"No,"  replied  the  young  man,  in  astonishment,  "I 
never  thought  of  such  a  thing!  I  always  have  felt 
perfectly  able  to  take  care  of  myself  without  wea- 
pons." 

"I  thought  as  much,"  said  Halloran  grimly, 
"Come  up  to  me  room  an'  I'll  fit  ye  out  right.  If 
anything  is  started  among  them  fellers  yonder," — 
he  pointed  to  another  and  larger  group  of  the  men 
who  had  gathered  about  O'Connor,  and  his  face 
grew  stern;  "it  won't  be  any  foot-ball  game,  an' 
you'll  find  that  somethin'  more  than  a  good  job  o' 
manhandling  '11  be  needed;  even  if  we  had  enough 
help  to  risk  puttin'  it  over — which  the  Lord  knows 
we  hain't." 

The  foreman  led  the  way  to  his  room  where  he 
procured  a  revolver,  which,  after  some  persuasion, 
he  induced  Parkyn  to  accept. 

"There,"  he  said  proudly,  "that's  more  like  it. 
That  baby  hain't  got  a  bore  like  the  Hoosac  tunnel, 
but  it's  big  enough.  If  weight  o'  artillery  don't 
count,  an'  you  can  shoot  straight,  you're  heeled  fit 
for  the  Five  Points." 


TEOUBLE  BEGINS  BREWING  95 

"I  can  shoot  with  the  best  of  them,"  the  young 
man  quietly  assured  him,  putting  the  gun  into  the 
outside  pocket  of  his  coat,  "but  I  hope  to  the  Lord 
there'll  be  no  occasion  to  make  good.  By  the  way, 
Halloran,  how  many  men  can  you  really  depend  on 
in  case  of  trouble?" 

Halloran 's  jaws  clamped  together  like  those  of 
a  steel  trap. 

"Just  two,  if  I  can  read  the  signs  right — Mr.  Rob- 
ert Parkyn  and  one  Jack  Halloran,"  he  returned, 
significantly. 

"Is  it  really  that  serious?" 

Halloran  eyed  Parkyn  keenly. 

"Yes;  but  if  you  feel " 

"Afraid?"  interjected  Parkyn,  steadily.  "No,  I'm 
not  afraid.  I  was  merely  thinking  what  a  mess  my 
first  important  assignment  is  likely  to  be,  and — well, 
I  was  thinking  how  awful  it  would  be  if  anyone 
should  get  seriously  hurt." 

"Sure;  it  would  be  awful,"  retorted  Halloran, 
doggedly,  "but  just  make  up  your  mind  to  go 
through — and  go  through  with  a  whole  skin,  even  if 
you  have  to  hurt  some  o'  them  blackguards  on  the 
way,"  and  with  lowering  brows  the  foreman  shot 
a  look  in  O'Connor's  direction  that  boded  ill  for  the 
fellow  if  he  chanced  to  run  against  Halloran  and  did 
not  exercise  his  own  peculiar  talents  first  and  "beat 
him  to  it." 

Parkyn  called  on  the  mayor  that  afternoon,  and 
as  Halloran  had  intimated  that  he  would,  received 
cold  comfort  from  that  pompous,  bewhiskered  offic- 
ial, who  took  full  advantage  of  his  opportunity  to 
impress  upon  "one  o'  them  New  Yorkers"  the  im- 
portance and  dignity  of  his  own  position  of  grand 
mogul  of  the  village.  He  took  special  pains  to  assure 


96  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

his  visitor  that  he  was  the  "whole  works"  of  that 
immediate  vicinity ;  that  he  most  emphatically  knew 
his  business  and  did  not  propose  to  permit  any  tran- 
sient visitor  to  give  him  post-graduate  instruction 
therein.  As  to  the  preservation  of  law  and  order, 
he  sarcastically  submitted  that  he  never  had  been 
compelled  to  ask  any  outsider  for  assistance  in  the 
performance  of  his  official  duties,  and  thought  he 
would  be  able  to  struggle  along  without  it  for  a  while 
longer. 

The  most  telling  point  made  by  the  mayor,  in  his 
own  estimation,  was  that  Mr.  Hanton  was  a  taxpay- 
er, a  law-abiding  citizen,  and  kept  a  highly  prosper- 
ous and  respectable  establishment  which  was  of 
great  commercial  and  social  value  to  the  village. 
By  no  means  could  he  offend  him  and  his  large,  re- 
putable, orderly,  respectable,  intelligent  and  influ- 
ential clientele  by  even  so  much  as  hinting  to  the 
aforesaid  prominent  citizen  that  closing  his  " buffet" 
would  in  the  slightest  degree  be  desirable. 

While  not  fully,  much  less  cordially,  appreciating 
all  the  points  made  by  the  chief  executive  of  the 
town,  Parkyn  grasped  the  main  features  of  the  sit- 
uation, to  wit:  First,  that  the  officials  and  citizens 
of  small  dots  on  the  map  were  not  unlike  those  of 
larger  and  more  important  places.  They  needed  the 
money  and  knew  a  good  thing  when  they  saw  it: 
Second,  and  more  important,  that  for  aught  he  him- 
self had  accomplished  by  his  visit  to  the  town  hall, 
the  joint  in  question  was  likely  to  run  wide  open 
until  the  frost  touched  the  pumpkins  in  Hades. 

The  reception  given  the  young  engineer  by  the 
eminent  Mr.  Hanton  and  his  bottle-tosser,  a  trucu- 
lent, boiled-lobster-hued,  beefy-fisted  individual  who, 


TROUBLE  BEGINS  BREWING  97 

naturally  enough,  was  named  Mike — more  familiar- 
ly known  as  "Big  Mike" — was  as  warm  as  the 
mayor's  reception  was  cold. 

Having  introduced  himself,  Parkyn  briefly  made 
known  his  business.  The  atmosphere  immediately 
became,  as  the  cow-men  of  the  great  West  would 
express  it,  "some  hostyle." 

On  learning  his  visitor's  mission,  Hanton  very 
nearly  had  an  apoplectic  fit.  His  rubicund  face  be- 
came purple ;  he  glared  for  a  moment  in  speechless 
wrath  at  the  young  man  and  then,  after  a  prelimin- 
ary sputter  that  sounded  like  a  huge  tom-cat  spitting 
defiance  at  a  rival  on  the  back  fence,  cut  loose  with 
a  stream  of  profanity  that  excelled  anything  Parkyn 
ever  had  heard. 

Despite  his  unfamiliarity  with  some  of  the  gen- 
tleman's phrases — originality  of  language  was  the 
saloon-keeper's  strong  point — the  young  man  had  no 
difficulty  in  comprehending  that  Mr.  Hanton  was 
distinctly  peeved  by  the  unwarranted  attempt  to  in- 
terfere with  a  decent  and  law-abiding  citizen's  laud- 
able endeavor  to  get  an  honest  living  for  himself 
and  family. 

How  far  Hanton  might  have  carried  his  protest 
is  a  matter  of  conjecture.  He  appeared  to  be  doub- 
ling his  formidable  fists  and  gathering  himself  to- 
gether for  a  spring  over  the  bar  at  the  intruder 
upon  the  peace  and  quiet  of  his  place  of  business, 
when  the  redoubtable  Mike,  brandishing  a  bung- 
starter  he  had  picked  up  as  a  measure  of  prepara- 
tion for  any  emergency  that  might  arise,  relieved 
the  tension  of  the  situation. 

"Fade  away,  young  feller!  Fade  away! — an' 
don't  let  us  keep  ye!"  he  bawled  ferociously.  "We 


98  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

can  ran  this  joint  without  any  o'  your  help.  Seel 
Chase  yourself,  Mr.  Buttinsky,  before  ye  finds  yer- 
self  standin'  on  yer  bloody  nut  I" 

As  a  number  of  the  guests  seemed  to  coincide  with 
Mike 's  war-like  ideas  and  were  militantly  gathering 
about  the  "buttinsky"  and  glaring  at  him  in  by  no 
means  reassuring  fashion,  Parkyn  discreetly  fol- 
lowed "Professor"  Mike's  directions,  backing  out 
of  the  place  with  what  dignity  he  could  muster  under 
the  rather  disturbing  conditions. 

When  Parkyn  reported  to  Halloran  at  the  hotel 
the  failure  of  his  mission  and  the  character  of  his 
reception,  that  matter-of-fact  person  laughed  up- 
roariously, saying,  after  the  manner  of  all  wise 
prophets,  "I  told  ye  so." 

Thinking  that  the  young  man  might  take  offense 
at  his  levity,  Halloran  said,  apologetically : 

" Don't  get  sore  at  me,  Mr.  Parkyn.  I  was  laugh- 
in'  like  the  dog  that  ate  the  paprika,  on  the  other 
side  of  me  face."  His  eyes  snapped  threateningly 
as  he  continued,  "I'd  give  a  week's  pay — if  I  ever 
get  any  again — t'  walk  up  ter  Hanton's  place  with 
half  a  dozen  huskies  that  would  stand  without  hitch- 
in',  an'  tear  the  livin'  guts  out  o'  that  infernal 
dump.  But  there's  times  when  a  feller's  got  to 
stand  the  gaff  without  kickin'  back,  an'  this  is  one 
of  'em.  If  anything 's  started  we  musn't  do  it,  an' 
besides,  "he  chuckled,  "we  ain't  got  the  huskies." 

"You  are  absolutely  right*  Halloran,"  replied 
Parkyn,  gravely,  "the  medicine  that  both  the  mayor 
and  Hanton  handed  me  wasn't  pleasant  to  take,  but 
I  guess  it  was  coming  to  me.  Besides,  it  was  a  lesson 
in  self-control  that  was  worth  all  it  cost." 

"Npthin'  to  it,  sir.  I've  had  to  eat  me  share  o' 
crow  in  me  day.  I  never  did  get  used  to  it,  an'  I've 


TROUBLE  BEGINS  BREWING  99 

always  laid  for  the  chance  to  make  the  feller  that 
handed  me  the  bird  eat  a  turkey  buzzard  before  I  got 
through  with  him.  But  practice  makes  perfect,  an' 
now  I  can  swallow  an  old  gray  parrot,  if  I  have  to, 
ter  say  nothin'  of  a  nice  black  crow,  an'  make  believe 
it's  quail.  Yes,  that  self-control  business  is  great 
stuff — when  there's  more  o'  them  than  there  is  o' 
you." 

"You're  a  philosopher,  Halloran,"  laughed  Par- 
kyn;  "you're  teaching  me  something  every  minute." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  That's  some  compliment.  Come 
up  to  my  room  and  let's  have  a  smoke." 

"At  your  service,  Halloran,"  said  the  superin- 
tendent, cheerily;  "let  us  both  be  philosophers  and 
enjoy  the  philosopher's  consolation — tobacco." 

The  two  men  repaired  to  Halloran 's  quarters  and 
over  their  pipes  forgot  for  the  time  being  their 
cares  and  responsibilities. 

"Whenever  I  try  to  smoke  out  my  troubles,"  said 
Parkyn,  "I  am  reminded  of  a  bit  of  verse  written 
by  one  of  my  old  professors : 

"  'Under  tobacco's  wonderful  spell 
Trouble  flies  and  the  world  goes  well — 
Visions  of  hope  flit  through  the  brain 
And  all  is  joy  and  peace  again. 
Under  tobacco's  wonderful  spell 
Happiness  comes  and  all  goes  well — 
This  old  world's  filled  with  angels  fair, 
Back  to  hell  flies  the  demon,  Care ! ' ' 

"Pretty  wise  old  chap,  wasn't  he,  Halloran?" 
"That  old  feller  sure ^ knew  a  lot,  Mr.  Parkyn," 
agreed  the  foreman,  meditatively,  wreathing  himself 
in  a  huge  cloud  of  smoke,  "but  I'm  afraid  that  be- 
fore we  get  through  it'll  take  a  few  pipes  o*  hop, 


100  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

or  a  big  dose  of  chloroform  to  make  us  forget  our 
troubles.  The  angels  fair  that  he  talks  about,  are 
goin'  to  be  up  against  the  real  thing,  sure  as  my 
name's  Jack  Halloran." 

"And  there's  one  chap  to  whom  you'd  like  to  give 
about  a  quart  of  chloroform  as  a  preventive  of  trou- 
ble, eh?"  laughed  the  young  man. 

"If  you  mean  that  feller  0  'Connor, "  retorted  Hal- 
loran, savagely,  "you've  hit  the  spike  plumb  on  the 
head,  an'  driven  her  clean  through  the  tie.  Quart, 
eh?"  he  blustered,  "I'd  like  to  give  that  son-of-a-gun 
a  barrel  of  the  knock-out  elope," — and  the  sturdy 
foreman,  gripping  his  powerful  fingers  in  a  grimly 
suggestive  and  business-like  way,  glared  fiercely  out 
of  the  window  at  the  shack  that  sheltered  the  men. 

"Why,  you  primitive  savage!"  exclaimed  Parkyn 
in  mock  horror;  "you  wouldn't  kill  him,  would 
you?" 

"You  heard  what  I  said,"  retorted  the  foreman, 
resolutely  setting  his  jaw,  "I  reckon  you  know  as 
much  as  I  do  about  the  safe  dose  of  the  sweet-smell- 
er. P'raps  a  quart  is  some  strong,  but  I'm  willin' 
to  compromise  with  ye.  Let's  make  it  a  pint." 

"Halloran,"  smiled  Parkyn,  "I'm  afraid  you're 
a  bad  Indian." 

"I  don't  quite  get  you,"  replied  Halloran,  quiet- 
ly, "but  if  you  mean  that  I've  got  it  in  for  O'Connor, 
you've  said  somethin',  believe  me." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TROUBLE    MAKER   AND   PEACE    MAKER 

Butch  Harris  had  concocted  no  very  definite  plan 
as  to  how  he  would  accomplish  his  purpose  of  "get- 
ting" Bob  Parkyn.  He  felt,  however,  that  he  could 
trust  to  luck  and  his  own  ingenuity  for  both  means 
and  opportunity.  Under  cover  of  the  excitement 
and  noise  of  a  riot  among  the  men,  plenty  of  chances 
were  likely  to  present  themselves.  Then,  too,  he 
reflected,  the  fates  might  be  kind  enough  to  take 
the  really  serious  part  of  the  job  off  his  hands. 

Should  a  violent  demonstration  occur  among  the 
workmen,  it  required  little  perspicacity  to  see  that 
under  such  conditions  many  things  might  happen 
to  a  man  of  Parkyn  *s  official  position,  physical  stam- 
ina and  undoubted  moral  and  physical  courage. 

If  some  "crazy  Dago"  happened  to  pull  a  gun 
or  knife  on  the  young  man,  and  should  chance  to 
"cook"  him,  Butch 's  problem  would  be  solved  with- 
out risk  to  himself,  and  Hennessy  would  be  even 
better  pleased  than  if  the  original  and  more  hazard- 
ous plan  had  been  carried  out. 

During  the  days  immediately  following  the  strike, 
Harris,  alias  O'Connor,  as  Parkyn  had  surmised, 
had  done  his  best  to  excite  unrest  and  dissatisfac- 
tion among  the  men.  This  was  no  easy  matter  at  first, 
for  the  men  in  general  had  no  special  grievances 
against  those  who  had  been  directing  their  labors 


102  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

and  who  really  had  been  rather  popular  with  them. 

By  subtle  innuendo  and  suggestion,  however,  in 
which  he  was  aided  by  the  outspoken  denunciation 
and  threats  of  a  few  malcontents  who  had  been  just- 
ly disciplined  by  either  Parkyn  or  Halloran,  the 
thug  succeeded  in  stirring  up  some  little  feeling  and 
resentment  of  imaginary  wrongs,  especially  toward 
Parkyn,  whom  Butch  at  first  vaguely,  and  finally 
with  definiteness,  asserted  to  be  an  aristocrat  of 
the  most  offensive  type. 

Halloran  was  depicted  to  the  malcontents  as  mere- 
ly a  creature  of  the  young  engineer's  who  would  be 
very  decent  if  he  were  not  under  the  latter  gentle- 
man's malign  and  corrupting  influence. 

Further — and  this  point  was  driven  well  home  by 
Butch — the  men  were  assured  that,  from  the  Atlantic 
to  the  Pacific,  the  entire  strike  with  all  its  attendant 
evils  had  been  fostered  by  just  such  men  as  Parkyn, 
for  the  malevolent  purpose  of  self-aggrandizement 
by  giving  themselves  the  opportunity  to  curry  favor 
with  the  capitalists — the  natural  foes  of  every  honest 
workman.  He  also  hinted  to  the  men  that,  as  the 
young  engineer  was  an  ambitious  company  official, 
they  could  guess  the  rest. 

By  keeping  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  those 
who  seemed  to  be  apt  scholars  in  the  lessons  of  re- 
bellion which  he  was  inculcating,  the  crook  finally 
instilled  considerable  gall  and  wormwood  into  the 
minds  of  a  small  proportion  of  the  men — a  propor- 
tion which,  however,  was  large  enough  for  his  sin- 
ister purpose,  if  trouble  once  began.  These  men  be- 
came restless,  dissatisfied  and  ripe  for  revolt.  The 
more  truculent  of  them  not  only  became  turbulent, 
but  quarreled  among  themselves  for  want  of  other 
outlet  for  their  animosities. 


TEOUBLE  AND  PEACE  MAKER         103 

As  the  men's  money  began  to  give  out  and  the 
unions  manifested  no  great  eagerness  to  supply  the 
funds  necessary  for  their  relief,  Butch 's  task  grew 
easier.  He  spent  money  lavishly  for  liquor  and  day 
by  day  wormed  himself  deeper  into  the  confidence 
of  the  strikers. 

The  time  soon  arrived  when  Butch  felt  that  his 
plans  must  be  immediately  consummated.  There 
were  several  men  who,  under  proper  conditions,  he 
believed  could  be  relied  upon  to  attend  to  his  little 
business  with  Parkyn.  It  was  not  so  easy,  however,  to 
make  a  deal  with  one  of  them  which  was  not  fraught 
with  danger  to  himself. 

The  thug  was  in  rather  deep  water,  but  doing  his 
unsuccessful  best  to  see  his  way  clear,  when  chance 
fairly  threw  the  intended  victim  into  his  hands.  The 
old  saying,  "a  fool  for  luck"  should  be  amended  to 
read  "a  fool  or  a  rascal  for  luck,"  so  as  to  cover 
from  either  angle  the  case  of  such  men  as  Butch. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  Bob  Parkyn  visited 
the  mayor  and  Hanton,  the  keeper  of  the  groggery, 
about  twenty  of  the  workmen  were  gathered  in  one 
of  the  hurriedly-built  shacks  used  by  the  construc- 
tion gang  as  bunk-houses.  Several  of  these  men  were 
of  the  contingent  that  had  fallen  under  Butch  Har- 
ris' evil  influence. 

In  the  corner  of  the  bunk-house,  at  a  rough 
table  made  of  packing  boxes,  sat  four  Italians,  play- 
ing cards  and  getting  such  excitement  as  they  could 
out  of  the  small  amount  of  money  they  had  left.  So 
small  was  this  pittance  that  the  stakes  in  front  of 
them  were  pathetic  in  their  meagerness.  The  piti- 
ful story  the  money  told  was  plain  enough  even  to 
the  unimaginative  mind. 


104  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Like  a  thunderbolt  out  of  a  smiling  summer  sky, 
came  trouble — trouble  serious  enough  to  satisfy  the 
most  ardent  lover  of  the  battle  game — delivering  his 
victim  into  Butch 's  hands  in  a  manner  most  favor- 
able to  the  execution  of  his  designs  and  the  conceal- 
ment of  any  fine  work  which  he  might  perform  in 
furtherance  of  those  designs,  and  so  suddenly  that 
the  thug  was  taken  almost  unprepared. 

Whether  crooked  work  by  the  gamblers  actually 
was  going  on  never  will  be  known.  One  of  the  play- 
ers, however,  accused  another  of  cheating.  There 
was  no  argument,  the  insult  was  too  deadly  and  had 
to  be  wiped  out  instanter.  Such  was  the  primitive 
code  of  those  humble  Italian  laborers,  who  held  life 
cheap  and  honor  high — a  reversionary  type  of  tem- 
perament which  made  them  worthy  of  more  ancient 
days  in  their  own  land  of  sunshine,  flowers  and  dark, 
desperate  deeds. 

The  man  accused  of  cheating  pulled  a  knife,  and 
missing  his  insulter's  chest,  drove  the  blade  deep 
into  his  shoulder,  inflicting  a  severe  wound.  The 
wounded  man  fell  to  the  floor,  his  assailant  falling 
squarely  on  top  of  him.  The  man  beneath  was  a 
powerful  fellow  and  succeeded  in  getting  his  arms 
around  his  adversary,  he  hugged  him  so  tightly  that 
the  man  above  could  not  release  his  arm  to  with- 
draw the  stiletto  and  repeat  the  blow.  Thus  locked 
in  a  deadly  embrace  the  men  lay  panting  on  the  floor 
like  two  fierce  animals  of  the  jungle  in  the  death 
grapple. 

The  other  two  card  players,  apparently  dazed  by 
the  suddenness  of  the  quarrel,  stood  for  a  mon-ent, 
stupidly  gazing  at  each  other  across  the  overturned 
pile  of  boxes  into  which  the  gaming-table  had  sad- 


TBOUBLE  AND  PEACE  MAKER         105 

denly  disintegrated.  Recovering  themselves  with 
equal  suddenness,  they  furiously  sprang  at  each 
other's  throats.  So  much  in  haste  were  they  to  an- 
nihilate each  other,  that  neither  had  the  forethought 
to  draw  a  weapon,  although  both  were  armed. 

The  new  combatants  also  went  to  the  floor  togeth- 
er like  a  pair  of  ferocious  wild  cats,  turned  over  and 
over  in  the  struggle  for  supremacy  and  finally  rolled 
out  of  the  door  of  the  bunk-house  into  the  road, 
where  they  continued  to  maul  and  tear  each  other 
to  their  heart's  content. 

The  plunging  of  the  second  pair  of  battlers  into 
the  fray  was  as  if  a  signal  had  been  pre-arranged. 
The  Italians  are  much  like  the  Scotch  in  their  clan- 
nishness,  and  just  as  a  McDougall  stands  by  a  Mc- 
Dougall,  so  does  the  Italian  stand  by  a  compatriot 
from  his  own  district.  Should  the  compatriot  be  a 
blood  relation,  even  in  the  'steenth  degree,  no  Ken- 
tucky feudist  ever  excelled  the  Italian's  eagerness 
to  enter  a  fight  to  vindicate  a  thin-skinned  honor 
backed  by  the  blood  that  is  thicker  than  water  and 
hotter  than  the  fire-boxes  of  hell. 

In  less  time  than  has  been  consumed  in  describing 
the  affair,  the  entire  room-full  of  dark-skinned,  fev- 
erish-blooded, high-strung  sons  of  fair  Italia,  were 
engaged  in  a  battle  which  for  years  was  still  spoken 
of  with  bated  breath  by  the  good  citizens  of  the 
town  of  A  .  .  .,  who  were  wont  to  inhibit  the  evil 
propensities  and  turbulent  spirits  of  their  children 
by  the  always  effective  formula,  "The  Guineas '11 
catch  you,  if  you  don 't  watch  out. ' ' 

Instinctively  dividing  into  factions  and  each  as 
instinctively  choosing  his  opponent,  the  infuriated 
men  rushed  at  each  other  like  so  many  madmen. 


106  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Clubs  appeared  from  nowhere,  stilettos  and  guns 
from  everywhere,  and  in  less  than  thirty  seconds 
each  warrior  was  doing  his  prettiest  to  exterminate 
his  man. 

At  least  a  dozen  shots  were  fired,  and  a  half  dozen 
men  wounded  more  or'  less  severely  in  the  first  rush. 
After  the  two  factions  became  indiscriminately 
intermingled,  shots  were  fired  in  the  thick  of  the 
fight,  all  of  which  went  wild.  There  was,  however, 
some  fairly  effective  work  done  with  the  knife — 
which  has  at  least  this  much  to  its  credit;  it  does 
not  often  go  wild,  and  when  it  does  it  usually  hits 
the  right  target,  albeit  in  the  wrong  place. 

Back  and  forth,  up  and  down  the  room  the  fight- 
ers struggled,  a  heaving,  writhing  mass  of  primitive 
beasts,  with  the  blood  lust  in  their  hearts  and  their 
brains  obsessed  with  one  fierce  desire — to  kill! — 
anyway,  everyway,  so  it  be  to  kill! 

Now  and  again  a  man  was  crushed  against  the 
tier  of  bunks  or  the  wall  until  the  very  life  was  all 
but  squeezed  out  of  him  and  he  dropped  helpless  to 
the  floor  from  sheer  suffocation,  only  to  rise  and  go 
at  it  again  more  fiercely  than  ever,  as  soon  as  he 
regained  his  wind. 

One  man,  with  a  stab  in  his  throat  which  had  nar- 
rowly missed  his  jugular,  staggered  toward  the  door 
and  fell  limply  just  outside.  The  first  shock  of  the 
blow  recovered  from,  he  re-entered  the  shack  and 
again  plunged  into  the  thick  of  the  fray,  battln^like 
a  demon,  his  blood  spouting  impartially  on  friend 
and  foe. 

Another  brawler,  temporarily  stunned  and  almost 
blinded  by  a  shot  fired  athwart  his  eyes  at  close 
range,  staggered  to  the  open  window,  falling  across 


TROUBLE  AND  PEACE  MAKER         107 

the  sill,  where  he  lay  helpless  for  a  minute  or  two, 
then,  recovering  himself,  he  too,  returned  to  the 
fight. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  room  was  redolent  with 
the  odor  of  the  perspiring  bodies  and  lung  exhala- 
tions of  the  none  too  clean  battlers,  mingled  with  the 
peculiar  sickly  odor  of  blood,  the  pungent  smell  of 
garlic  and  the  unmistakable  acrid  tang  of  powder 
smoke. 

The  superintendent  and  foreman  had  finished 
their  pipes  and  sat  chatting.  The  latter,  however, 
soon  complained  of  feeling  sleepy  and  asked  to  be 
excused. 

The  two  men  bade  each  other  good  night  and  Par- 
kyn  repaired  to  the  hotel  veranda,  where  he  sat  for 
a  while  revolving  in  his  mind  the  seemingly  crucial 
situation  that  confronted  Halloran  and  himself. 
Growing  restless  and  not  being  at  all  inclined  bed- 
ward,  he  finally  sauntered  slowly  down  to  the  steam- 
boat wharf,  where  he  stood  pensively  gazing  at  the 
star-sprinkled  night  sky  and  the  gorgeous  summer 
moon,  that  just  then  was  proudly  rising  across  the 
heavens  in  all  her  cold,  silver  brilliancy.  From  time 
to  time  his  revery  was  disturbed  by  boisterous 
shouts  and  rude  laughter,  proceeding  from  one  of 
the  bunk-houses. 

Suddenly  there  was  the  sound  of  angry  voices, 
immediately  followed  by  the  noise  of  a  scuffle.  Par- 
kyn  listened  intently. 

'  *  That  sounds  as  if  0  'Connor  were  getting  busy, ' ' 
he  soliloquized. 

A  fusillade  of  shots  rang  out,  mixed  with  yells  of 
pain  and  fury. 


108  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Good  God!    It's  come !" 

Parkyn  tore  up  the  pier  and  down  the  road  toward 
the  bunk-house,  yelling  madly: 

* '  Jack !  Oh  Jack !  They  're  at  it !  Get  down  here, 
quick,  for  God's  sake!" 

Some  good  citizens  must  have  heard  the  row  and 
given  the  alarm,  for  before  Bob  reached  the  shack 
where  the  battle  was  in  progress,  the  bell  in  the 
town  hall  was  ringing  like  mad,  night-capped  heads 
were  popping  out  of  windows,  in  every  direction,  and 
suddenly-awakened  women  and  children  were  shriek- 
ing the  town  into  pandemonium. 

Somebody  yelled,  "Fire!"  and  the  town's  volun- 
teer fire-fighters  soon  could  be  seen  rushing  madly 
about  like  a  lot  of  decapitated  chickens,  rubbing  the 
sleep  and  nocturnal  gum  from  their  eyes  and 
excitedly  trying  to  find  each  other,  make  ready 
the  old  hand-pump  engine,  and  locate  the  fire. 

As  Parkyn  rushed  into  the  bunk-house  he  stum- 
bled over  the  two  warriors  who  were  just  rolling  out 
of  the  door.  Narrowly  missing  stepping  on  them, 
he  sprang  over  their  writhing,  panting  bodies  and 
straight  on  into  the  shack. 

Merely  because  of  its  dramatic  effects  alone,  the 
scene  into  the  midst  of  which  the  young  engineer  was 
thus  suddenly  projected,  was  one  that  no  man,  and 
least  of  all,  Bob  Parkyn,  would  have  been  likely  ever 
to  forget.  It  was  destined  to  be  indelibly  stamped  up- 
on the  screen  of  his  memory  in  letters  of  fire  and 
blood,  to  be  vividly  brought  back  a  thousand  times  by 
agony  of  soul,  despair  and  humiliation  of  spirit  such 
as  rarely  falls  to  the  lot  of  man. 

A  struggling,  cursing,  shouting,  shooting,  stabbing 
mass  of  savage  humanity  in  the  center  of  the  room 
was  trampling  on  the  prostrate  bodies  of  those  who 


TEOUBLE  AND  PEACE  MAKER         109 

either  were  already  Jiors  de  combat,  or  still  were 
murderously  adjusting  their  mutual  differences  on 
the  floor.  Shot  after  shot  was  fired  from  the  midst 
of  the  heaving  mass,  the  missiles  flying  in  all  direc- 
tions and  making  a  zone  of  fire  which,  under  the 
circumstances,  was  more  dangerous  than  the  center 
of  warfare. 

With  instantaneous  grasp  of  the  state  of  affairs, 
Parkyn  rushed  headlong  into  the  thick  of  the  fray 
in  a  frantic  endeavor  to  separate  and  mollify  the 
men. 

"Fool?"  Of  course  he  was  a  fool,  but  the  line  be- 
tween bravery  and  foolhardiness  is  so  shadowy,  so 
intangible,  that  most  high-spirited,  strong-hearted 
men  overstep  it  some  time  or  other. 

Cowards  rarely  are  foolhardy.  Deeds  of  heroism 
are  not  painted  in  yellow.  Brave  men  sometimes 
display  cowardice — there's  a  tinge  of  ochre  even  in 
heroic  blood — but  your  man  with  the  deeply  in- 
grained yellow  streak  rarely  is  just  the  sort  of  a 
fool  that  Parkyn  was  on  that  memorable  night  on 
the  Hudson. 

Many  acts  of  heroism,  like  many  crimes,  are  per- 
formed on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  and  possibly 
the  young  engineer,  like  many  another  hero  on  im- 
pulse, the  next  instant  regretted  his  rashness.  If 
so,  the  greater  was  his  heroism,  for  he  stood  by  his 
guns. 

Butch  Harris  long  before  had  learned  the  lesson 
that  everybody  had  worries  of  his  own,  and  that  no- 
body but  "chumps"  ever  poked  their  "bills"  into 
other  people's  troubles.  Besides,  this  was  his 
"racket" — he  had  laid  the  wires  and  framed  up  the 
setting  for  it.  His  cue,  therefore,  was  to  make  his 
"get  away"  and  stay  away  until  the  battle  was  over, 


110  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

waiting  meanwhile,  to  see  what  the  fates  would  do 
for  him  in  the  matter  of  dropping  Parkyn  into  his 
hand. 

The  Strangler  saw  the  fight  fairly  well  under  way 
— he  could  not  well  help  it,  for  the  scrap  came  on  so 
suddenly  and  fiercely  that  it  made  even  the  experi- 
enced and  hardened  ruffian  gasp — and  then  sneaked 
out  of  the  door  to  safety.  He  stationed  himself  be- 
hind a  near-by  shack,  and  kept  a  sharp  lookout  in 
the  direction  of  the  hotel. 

Butch 's  shrewd  surmise  as  to  Parkyn 's  probable 
action  in  case  of  a  serious  disturbance  among  the 
workmen  soon  was  justified  by  his  appearance  on  the 
scene.  He  came  sprinting  along  like  a  deer,  but  in 
a  different  direction  from  that  expected  by  Harris. 

As  the  young  engineer  passed  his  hiding  place, 
the  thug,  with  a  sudden  inspiration  that  infused  a 
semblance  of  courage  into  his  own  yellow  heart, 
sprang  after  him,  and  when  Parkyn  entered  the 
bunk-house  Butch  was  right  at  his  heels.  Instinctive- 
ly realizing  the  golden  opportunity  to  safely  get  his 
man,  he  followed  the  superintendent  into  the  thick  of 
the  fray. 

"Begorra!  I'm  wid  yez,  Misther  Parkyn!"  he 
shouted  in  his  fake  Irish  brogue.  '  *  Quit  yer  fightin ', 
ye  damned  wops ! ' ' 

When  a  man  rushes  into  a  crazy,  fighting  mob, 
armed  with  pistols  and  knives,  it  is  second  nature 
fo  draw  his  own  weapon — if  he  has  one  upon  him. 
As  Parkyn  rushed  into  the  crowd  of  maddened  bat- 
tlers he  instinctively  drew  his  pistol ;  Butch  followed 
suit,  but  with  a  definite  and  sinister  motive. 

Although  he  did  not  draw  his  weapon  with  the 
purpose  of  using  it,  the  superintendent  intuitively 
felt  that  a  gun  in  hand  was  worth  a  dozen  argu- 


TROUBLE  AND  PEACE  MAKER         111 

ments  in  the  proverbial  bush.  This  idea  in  general 
is  not  a  bad  one,  but  where  everybody  in  a  crowd 
is  armed  with  a  gun  or  knife  and  shooting  or  stabbing 
in  all  directions,  a  gun  more  or  less  doesn't  count 
for  much — either  for  its  moral  effect  or  as  a  phys- 
ical argument. 

Parkyn  flourished  his  gun  threateningly,  and  en- 
deavored to  separate  the  men  by  shouldering  and 
pulling  them  apart  with  his  free  hand,  Butch  pre- 
tending to  aid  the  young  man,  meanwhile  looking 
for  a  chance  to  get  him. 

The  two  men  were  immediately  caught  in  the  midst 
of  the  press  and  the  superintendent's  gun-hand 
was  forced  above  his  head.  In  the  struggle  to  free 
it,  the  weapon  accidentally  was  discharged,  the  ball 
whistling  over  the  bobbing  heads  of  the  struggling, 
swaying  mass  of  infuriated  fighters  and  passing  out 
of  the  door,  to  spend  itself  harmlessly  in  the  hillside 
on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 

Just  as  Parkyn 's  gun-hand  was  carried  above  the 

t  head-level  of  the  mob,  Butch  pressed  his  own  gun 
to  the  young  man's  side  and  pulled  the  trigger! 
No  member  of  a  fighting  mob  stays  "put"  long 
enough  to  count  as  a  steady  target — which  is  why 
in  such  strenuous  affairs  the  mortality  rate  is  so 
low.  Parkyn  himself  did  not  stay  put,  and  just  as 
the  Strangler  placed  his  gun  against  the  superin- 
tendent's side,  the  intended  victim  was  rolled  away 
in  the  press  of  straining  bodies. 

The  weapon  was  a  good  one — tried  and  true — it 
was  well  aimed  and  went  of  on  schedule  time,  but 
the  target  swerved  aside  and  the  thug  made  a  clean 
miss  of  his  man. 

But  " every  bullet  has  its  billet,"  and  that  from 
Butch 's  gun  was  no  exception  to  the  rule.  Missing 


112  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Parkyn,  it  passed  behind  his  back  and  tore  a  hole 
through  the  chest  of  the  man  nearest  him.  The  un- 
fortunate fellow  died  without  a  groan,  his  heart  torn 
clear  through. 

The  body  of  the  dea'd  man,  supported  by  the  liv- 
ing bodies  that  suddenly  closed  in  about  him,  stood 
uncannily  erect  for  a  brief  space,  then,  as  the  crowd 
surged  apart,  it  slipped  and  slid  to  the  floor  as  a 
bundle  of  rags  might  have  fallen.  It  was  rolled 
over  on  its  face  by  the  cruel,  tramping,  kicking  feet 
of  his  late  friends  and  foes  and  lay  in  a  ghastly, 
motionless  heap  around  which  a  pool  of  blood  slow- 
ly formed. 

Butch  hastily  cocked  his  gun  and  with  the  muzzle 
full  against  Parkyn 's  body  again  pulled  the  trigger. 
But  the  young  man's  good  fairy  must  have  been  on 
guard  that  night — although  he  later  cursed  the  luck 
that  let  him  live  through  the  fight — for  the  hammer 
clicked  harmlessly  on  a  defective  cartridge.  There 
was  no  opportunity  for  the  thug  to  make  another  at- 
tempt to  fire,  for  the  rush  of  maddened  men  carried 
him  away  from  his  quarry. 

Luckily  for  Parkyn,  he  received  a  stab  in  the 
thigh,  which  bled  so  freely  that  he  soon  fell  from 
sheer  weakness.  Once  the  superintendent  had  gone 
to  the  floor,  the  infuriated  men  turned  on  Butch  and 
made  common  cause  against  him.  He,  too,  went  to 
the  floor  under  a  rain  of  blows.  His  histrionic  abil- 
ity would  have  cost  him  his  life,  had  not  Jack  Hal- 
loran,  reinforced  by  several  constables  and  a  number 
of  the  towns-people,  rushed  in,  club  and  gun  in  hand, 
and  overcome  those  of  the  men  who  still  were  on 
their  feet. 

Heads  were  cracked  and  jaws  were  punched,  right 
and  left,  and  the  Italians,  afl  of  whom  were  well  nigh 


TROUBLE  AND  PEACE  MAKER         113 

exhausted  from  their  enthusiastic  efforts  to  slaugh- 
ter each  other  and  sundry  weakening  hurts  on  their 
anatomies,  were  soon  subjugated  and  taken  to  the 
town  calaboose. 

No  sooner  had  Butch  Harris  struggled  to  his  feet, 
than  he  dramatically  pointed,  first  at  the  dead  man 
and  then  at  Parkyn,  and  cried : 

"There's  de  guy  what  killed  that  Dago!" 

1 1  You  're  crazy,  you  d d  tough !  Say  that  again 

an'  I'll  wring  your  neck!"  raved  the  enraged  Hal- 
loran. 

Threat  and  action  came  together  with  Jack  Hal- 
loran  and  had  he  not  been  pulled  off  by  half  a  dozen 
men,  the  thug  probably  would  not  have  lived  to  bear 
further  testimony  against  Bob  Parkyn. 

The  mayor,  Hanton  and  Big  Mike  were  among  a 
miscellaneous  crowd  that  arrived  on  the  scene  just 
in  time  to  hear  Butch  accuse  Parkyn  of  the  murder. 
The  accusation  was  "nuts"  for  them,  and  the  mayor 
at  once  ordered  the  young  engineer  under  arrest. 

If  John  Halloran  had  not  interposed,  his  friend 
would  have  been  thrown,  bleeding  and  helpless  as  he 
was  and  unable  to  speak,  into  the  common  calaboose 
with  the  other  prisoners,  who  undoubtedly  would 
have  finished  him  long  before  morning. 

The  experienced  Halloran  applied  a  handkerchief 
tourniquet  to  his  friend 's  thigh  above  the  wound  and 
twisted  it  tightly,  thus  stopping  the  hemorrhage. 
He  then  had  him  carried  to  the  hotel  and  sent  for  a 
physician,  who  promptly  came  and  skilfully  dressed 
the  wound,  after  which  the  doctor  went  to  the  jail 
and  attended  to  the  less  dangerous  injuries  of  the 
men. 

A  strong  guard  was  placed  over  Parkyn  for  the 
night.  The  mayor,  now  thoroughly  alarmed,  tele- 


114  TKUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

graphed  to  the  sheriff  at  the  county  seat  for  help. 
The  latter  official  at  once  telegraphed  the  governor, 
and  early  the  following  morning  a  posse  of  deputy 
sheriffs  and  a  company  of  militia  were  in  control  of 
the  situation.  •• 

The  coroner  was  notified  and  late  the  next  after- 
noon held  an  inquest,  at  which  the  most  interested 
listener  was  Boss  Hennessy,  who,  apprised  of  the 
situation  by  the  New  York  papers,  had  come  up 
on  the  early  morning  boat,  arriving  in  time  to  air 
his  indignation  at  the  murder  of  one  of  his  men,  and 
to  hold  a  private  conference  with  the  coroner,  the 
coroner's  physician  and  the  town  officials,  in  which 
he  left  certain  very  definite  impressions  upon  their 
minds  as  to  the  frightful  nature  of  the  crime  com- 
mitted and  the  imperative  necessity  of  protecting 
the  public — and  more  especially  the  "  honest  laboring 
man" — by  doing  their  full  duty  in  the  premises. 

Immediately  on  his  arrival  at  the  scene,  Hen- 
nessy learned  all  the  details  of  the  murder,  includ- 
ing the  charge  made  against  Parkyn.  He  knew  that 
his  henchman  could  be  relied  upon  to  "stick,"  hence 
he  very  wisely  kept  away  from  that  worthy  member 
of  the  Universal  Society  of  Thugs,  Limited,  whilst 
Butch,  being  mindful  of  the  stipulation  made  by  the 
Boss  at  Black  Bill's  on  the  night  of  the  frame-up, 
studiously  avoided  his  employer. 

The  evidence  submitted  at  the  coroner's  inquest 
was  all  one  way,  hence  the  result  was  a  foregone 
conclusion. 

The  jury  was  composed  of  honest,  simple,  town 
and  country  folk,  who  in  forming  conclusions  usual- 
ly go  straight  to  the  point  when  the  way  is  made 


TEOUBLE  AND  PEACE  MAKER    115 

plain  to  them — and  on  this  occasion  it  was  made 
plain  enough  for  the  most  obtuse  mind. 

The  Italians  who  were  in  the  lamentable  fracas, 
really  did  not  know  who  fired  the  shot  that  killed 
their  fellow  countryman.  None  of  those  who  had 
fired  pistols  could  feel  quite  sure  that  he  himself 
was  not  guilty  of  the  murder.  All  were  glad  to 
avail  themselves  of  the  opportunity  to  evade  respon- 
sibility by  saddling  the  crime  onto  some  one  else. 

m Their  erstwhile  "Irish"  friend,  "0/Connor,"  had 
given  them  their  cue.  The  fight  being  over,  they 
were  glad  to  again  claim  his  friendship,  hence  his 
veracity  was  not  to  be  questioned,  and  his  direct 
accusation  of  Parkyn  had  been  staunchly  supported 
by  adroit  questioning  and  subtle  suggestion  by  Hen- 
nessy  through  an  interpreter,  in  the  jail  prior  to 
the  inquest.  The  Italians — five  of  whom  testified — 
being  well-drilled,  made  excellent  witnesses.  The 
testimony  of  one  was  the  testimony  of  all.  Each 
swore  that  he  had  seen  Parkyn  fire  the  fatal  shot. 

The  star  witness  naturally  was  "O'Connor.*'  His 
testimony  was  especially  strong  because  of  the  seem- 
ing hesitancy  with  which  it  was  given,  and  the  ap- 
parent fact  that  in  the  melee  he  had  endeavored  to 
assist  Parkyn  in  his  efforts  to  restore  order,  as  the 
accused  man  freely  admitted. 

In  the  minds  of  the  jury  there  could  be  no  doubt 
as  to  who  fired  the  shot  by  which  the  deceased  came 
to  his  death.  O'Connor  testified  that  he  stood  im- 
mediately at  the  side  of  the  accused  and  saw  him 
place  his  gun  almost  against  the  victim's  breast 
and  fire.  The  witness  also  saw  the  deceased  fall, 
shortly  after  which  he  himself  had  publicly  charged 
Parkyn  with  the  killing. 


116  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

The  testimony  of  Dr.  Danford,  the  county  phy- 
sician, was  merely  perfunctory.  He  examined  the 
body  of  Giulio  Maggioli,  the  deceased,  and  found 
that  he  had  come  to  his  death  from  a  gunshot  wound, 
fired,  as  proved  by  the  character  of  the  wound  and 
the  powder  marks,  at  close  range.  The  ball  had 
passed  obliquely  through  the  chest,  piercing  the 
heart,  and  lodged  in  the  muscles  of  the  back. 

Yes,  he  had  removed  the  ball  and  had  it  in  his 
office.  He  hadn't  brought  it  to  the  inquest  be- 
cause he  "didn't  think  it  necessary."  He  could, 
however,  send  for  it,  if  the  coroner  so  desired. 

The  coroner  did  not  consider  that  the  ball  was  es- 
sential as  an  evidence  exhibit — the  testimony  of  the 
other  witnesses  and  the  doctor's  statement  of  the 
cause  of  death  was  complete  without  it,  he  said, 
hence  the  doctor  need  not  send  for  it. 

It  should  be  noted  that  Halloran  's  gun,  with  which 
Parkyn  was  said  to  have  done  the  killing,  was  sub- 
mitted as  an  important  exhibit. 

It  may  astonish  the  uninitiated  that  the  bullet 
was  not  called  for.  It  will  not,  however,  astonish 
those  who  are  wise  in  the  ways  of  politics  and  its 
dispensation  of  public  offices  to  incompetents.  The 
selection  of  incumbents  of  political  offices  often 
seems  to  involve  a  careful  search  for  those  persons 
who  are  least  intelligent  and  most  inefficient  and 
subservient. 

The  coroner  of  H  ...  County  was  a  typical 
combination  of  political  bum  and  country  "rube" 
who,  if  he  ever  looked  past  his  own  nose  was  likely 
to  get  his  retinas  scorched  and  who,  whilst  lighting 
his  cigar  hazarded  a  conflagration  by  the  ignition 
of  his  own  breath. 


TROUBLE  AND  PEACE  MAKER    117 

The  coroner's  physician  having  been  selected  for 
the  office  by  the  coroner  himself,  was  a  fit  running- 
mate  for  that  bibulous  person.  Danford  was  a  type 
that  is  only  too  often  met  with  in  the  profession — 
or  rather,  hanging  onto  the  skirts  of  the  profession. 
Every  city  ward  has  one  or  more  of  him  drawing 
nurture  from  municipal  politics.  Every  country 
town  has  at  least  one  of  him. 

Wherever  he  is  found,  the  hall-marks  are  plain. 
He  is  called  "Doc,"  and  is  proud  of  it;  he  is  a  lib- 
eral user  of  that  lurid  cosmetic  known  as  "nose 
paint,"  and  has  the  reputation  of  being  the  "best 
doctor  in  town — when  he's  sober."  The  fact  that 
he  never  is  sober  serves  as  a  sort  of  accident  insur- 
ance for  the  guileless  layman. 

What  could  have  been  expected  of  the  befuddled 
wits  of  the  coroner  and  his  subordinate? 

As  for  Parkyn,  he  was  still  so  weak  from  shock 
and  loss  of  blood,  and  his  mind  so  murky  and  with- 
al so  overwhelmed  by  the  overpowering  weight  of 
the  testimony  against  him,  that  he  could  think  of 
nothing  save  the  fearful  injustice  of  it  all. 

John  Halloran,  while  intelligent  enough  and  fair- 
ly shrewd,  was  neither  deep  nor  cunning,  and  be- 
sides, he  was  so  furious  at  the  predicament  in  which 
the  young  engineer  had  been  placed,  that  he  could 
not  think  coolly  nor  coherently.  He  gave  his  testi- 
mony in  a  disconnected  and  wrathful  fashion  which 
might  have  suggested  to  the  impartial  mind  an  ar- 
dent desire  to  whip  the  coroner  and  all  of  his  min- 
ions. He  never  for  a  moment  thought  of  calling  for 
the  fatal  bullet  and  comparing  its  caliber  to  that  of 
the  gun  he  had  loaned  the  superintendent. 

There  were  two  men  in  the  room  who  were  decid- 


118  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

edly  on  the  qui  vive  while  Dr.  Danford  was  testify- 
ing, and  to  whose  minds  the  coroner's  decision  as 
to  the  bullet  was  very  reassuring. 

Hennessy  saw  the  point  at  once — he  was  an  old 
and  experienced  fox  in  such  matters  and  could  give 
the  average  criminal  lawyer  "cards  and  spades." 
He  watched  Butch 's  face  very  closely  while  the 
doctor  was  testifying  and  fancied  he  saw  anxiety 
depicted  thereon.  He  was  almost  certain  of  this 
when  the  question  of  sending  for  the  bullet  arose. 
He  thought  also,  that  Butch 's  face  showed  an  ex- 
pression of  relief  when  the  coroner  decided  that  the 
bullet  was  not  necessary  in  evidence. 

The  Boss  tried  to  catch  his  henchman's  eye,  but 
without  success.  Butch  apparently  was  counting  the 
hairs  of  a  near-bald  individual  who  sat  just  in  front 
of  him,  and  affecting  an  indifference  to  the  doctor's 
testimony  which,  as  the  boss  shrewdly  surmised,  he 
did  not  feel. 

Hennessy  made,  for  future  reference,  a  mental 
note  of  the  medical  testimony.  The  cunning  in- 
stinct of  the  crook  told  him  where  the  "hole  in  the 
fence"  was  situated,  and  he  resolved  that  it  must 
be  mended.  His  first  casual  survey  of  the  doctor's 
physiognomy  satisfied  the  Boss  that  he  would  have 
little  difficulty  in  that  direction.  As  for  the  men 
"higher  up,"  they,  he  reflected,  were  "dead  easy — 
a  lead-pipe  cinch. ' ' 

There  is  one  way  to  handle  a  fool  who  is  easily 
bent  crooked,  and  another  way  to  handle  men  who 
already  are  bent,  and  who  can't  be  fooled  and  rare- 
ly fool  themselves.  Both,  however,  can  be  handled 
by  anybody  who  knows  the  price  of  men  in  the  polit- 
ical market,  and  the  Boss  knew  the  price  better  than 
did  most  men.  His  experienced  judgment  as  an 


TROUBLE  AND  PEACE  MAKER    119 

appraiser  of  that  sort  of  goods  never  had  been  chal- 
lenged. 

The  feebly-given  testimony  of  the  accused  in  his 
own  behalf  had  no  weight  with  the  coroner's  jury. 
They  regarded  it  as  the  usual  denial  of  guilt  on  the 
part  of  a  criminal. 

The  verdict  of  the  jury  was  clear  and  succinct : 

"We,  the  jury,  find  that  the  deceased,  Giulio  Mag- 
gioli,  came  to  his  death  by  a  gunshot  wound,  inflict- 
ed with  intent  to  kill,  by  the  prisoner,  Robert  Par- 
kyn,  and  recommend  that  he  be  held  without  bail 
to  the  grand  jury  of  H  ...  County  to  await  its 
action. ' ' 

The  prisoner  was  turned  over  to  the  sheriff,  and 
immediately  taken  by  him  to  the  jail  in  the  town  of 
B  .  .  .,  the  county  seat. 

When  he  gave  the  lie  to  "O'Connor,"  loyal  Jack 
Halloran  had  no  means  of  knowing  that  the  young 
engineer  really  had  not  killed  the  Italian.  Not  real- 
izing at  first  the  seriousness  of  the  young  man's 
predicament,  he  felt  that,  if  Parkyn  really  had  done 
the  killing,  it  was  all  in  the  line  of  his  duty,  and 
that  one  Guinea  more  or  less  should  not  weigh  very 
heavily  in  the  balance  with  the  life  and  liberty  of 
an  American  citizen,  and  especially  of  a  friend. 

The  inquest  had  not  proceeded  far,  however,  be- 
fore the  big  foreman  plainly  saw  that,  so  far  as  the 
coroner's  jury  was  concerned,  young  Parkyn 's  case 
was  hopeless.  When  the  verdict  was  in  and  Bob  had 
been  transferred  to  the  county  jail,  Jack  swore  a 
string  of  ripping  oaths  that  would  have  made  a  fish- 
wife blush.  He  vowed  vengeance  on  O'Connor  in 
every  language  known  to  masters  of  profanity,  at 
the  same  time  vaguely  comprehending  his  utter  help- 


120  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

lessness  and  inability  to  aid  his  friend  and  co-work- 
er. 

Aroused  at  last  to  comprehension  of  his  friend's 
danger  and  greatly  disturbed  by  the  verdict,  Jack 
hastened  to  visit  the  prisoner  in  the  lockup,  for  the 
double  purpose  of  rendering  him  any  assistance 
he  might  need,  and  getting  his  story  first  hand. 

Parkyn  had  so  far  recovered  that  he  could  talk 
to  Halloran,  albeit  with  difficulty  and  against  the 
doctor's  orders. 

"Did  you  shoot  that  fellow,  Mr.  Parkyn?"  anx- 
iously inquired  the  foreman. 

"No,"  replied  the  prisoner  feebly,  "I  fired  only 
one  shot  and  that  accidentally.  The  ball  went  over 
the  heads  of  the  crowd  and  then  the  Lord  knows 
where.  I  couldn't  have  shot  him  if  I  had  tried.  I  was 
wedged  in  the  crowd  so  tightly  that  I  couldn't  move, 
and  my  pistol  hand  was  stuck  up  in  the  air,  with 
somebody  holding  my  arm.  In  struggling  to  free 
myself  I  pulled  the  trigger  of  that  self-cocker — 
and  there  you  are. 

"Have  you  got  any  idea  who  did  do  the  killing?" 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world,  Halloran.  In  that 
mixup  it  would  have  been  safe  to  lay  it  onto  any- 
body." 

"Even  onto  you,"  said  the  foreman  bitterly. 
"Well,  we'll  get  you  out  o'  this  all  right,"  he  con- 
tinued, not  quite  confidently. 

"Let  us  hope  so,  Halloran,"  and  Parkyn  smiled 
faintly. 

The  seriousness  of  his  friend's  position  was  pretty 
clear  to  Halloran  when  he  said  good  night  to  him 
in  the  jail,  and  he  was  more  alarmed  than  he  cared 
to  admit. 


TROUBLE  AND  PEACE  MAKEE    121 

Hennessy  received  the  verdict  with  all  the  sang 
froid  exhibited  by  his  class  when  they  have  put  some- 
thing "over."  The  physiognomy  of  the  cat  that 
ate  the  canary  was  peevish  and  fretful  compared 
with  Hennessy 's  self -satisfied  smirk.  The  expres- 
sion of  his  countenance,  in  brief,  was  suggestive  of 
"gloat." 

Butch 's  mission  had  been  successful  beyond  his 
chief's  wildest  anticipation.  The  Boss  wondered  at 
Harris '  change  of  programme,  and  hungered  for  de- 
tails of  the — for  him — lucky  affair  that  had  put  his 
enemy  into  his  hands  via  a  situation  which,  even 
without  any  "nursing,"  was  about  as  bad  for  the 
engineer  as  anything  that  even  Hennessy  himself 
could  have  devised.  If  there  was  no  slip-up,  he 
thought,  Parkyn 's  predicament  "beat  gettin'  him 
cooked,  to  a  fare  ye  well." 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  the  Boss  would 
forego  the  pleasure  of  calling  on  his  down-fallen, 
helpless  foe.  The  sight  of  young  Parkyn,  lying  on 
a  stretcher  at  the  inquest,  had  been  pleasant  indeed, 
but  he  knew  one  that  would  be  far  sweeter  to  his 
mental  palate.  He  fain  would  enjoy  the  sight  of  the 
young  engineer  alone  and  suffering  in  gaol. 

And  so,  before  returning  to  New  York,  the  venge- 
ful Boss  Hennessy  paid  a  visit  to  Parkyn  in  the 
county  jail  at  B  ...  In  the  name  of  pity  and 
in  behalf  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness,  let  us  re- 
joice that  he  was  disappointed  in  his  efforts  to  har- 
ass his  victim. 

The  series  of  shocks  which  the  prisoner  had  ex- 
perienced, the  loss  of  blood,  the  pain  of  his  wound — 
which  had  become  excruciating — a  hypodermic  of 
morphine  given  him  by  the  doctor  and  several  de- 


122      .         TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

grees  of  septic  temperature  that  already  had  devel- 
oped, had  put  his  mind  in  such  a  dazed  condition 
that  it  was  almost  beyond  comprehension  of  his  en- 
emy's presence,  to  say  nothing  of  the  attempts  of 
the  Boss  to  worry  him  by  vicious,  merciless,  verbal 
assaults. 

To  the  mind  of  the  unfortunate  young  man,  the 
events  of  the  past  few  days  were  an  unpleasant, 
incoherent  dream.  He  saw  "as  through  a  glass, 
darkly,"  and  his  sensibilities  were  obscured  by  a 
cloud  of  indifference  and  benumbed  receptivity  of 
all  impressions,  that  the  venomous  tongue  of  his 
enemy  could  not  penetrate. 

Hennessy  helped  himself  to  a  stool  which,  with 
the  rude  pallet  that  constituted  Parkyn's  bed,  was 
the  only  furniture  in  the  cell.  He  lost  no  time  in 
preliminaries,  but  at  once  began  launching  his  bolts. 

"So,"  he  sneered,  "mamma's  little  Willie  boy  is 
pretty  handy  with  a  gun,  ain  't  he  f  You  '11  be  taught 
better  than  to  cook  a  poor,  hard  workin'  lad  before 
we  get  done  with  ye.  D  'ye  get  me  ? ' ' 

The  prisoner  did  not  "get"  him,  but  stared  at 
him  with  dim  and  vacuous  eyes. 

"Huh!  Not  very  sociable,  are  ye?"  pursued  the 
Boss.  "Mamma  didn't  bring  ye  up  right,  did  she? 
What '11  she  say  when  she  hears  what's  happened  to 
her  baby  boy,  eh?" 

Parkyn's  brows  contracted  and  his  eyes  became 
more  alert  for  a  fleeting  moment ;  he  then  resumed 
his  vacuous  stare. 

Hennessy  was  not  making  progress  and  he  began 
to  see  it,  so  he  resolved  to  play  what  in  his  benight- 
ed ignorance  he  considered  his  trump  card. 

"Oh,  come  out  of  it!"  cried  the  Boss,  grasping 


TROUBLE  AND  PEACE  MAKER         123 

the  prostrate  man  roughly  by  the  shoulder,  and 
giving  him  a  violent  shake.  "What  d'ye  s'pose 
Maggie  Halloran'll  say,  when  she  reads  what's  hap- 
pened to  her  tootsey  wootsey — an'  what's  goin'  ter 
happen  to  'im  pretty  soon?"  The  Boss  made  the 
* '  sign  of  the  rope ' '  with  his  free  hand. 

The  young  engineer  gazed  at  his  tormentor  with 
a  puzzled  expression. 

"Maggie — Maggie — Halloran ? '"  he  said  slowly, 
with  an  evident  struggle  to  arouse  his  dulled  mem- 
ory and  find  words  to  frame  his  question.  "Who — 
who  is  Mag — Maggie  Hal — Halloran  I ' ' 

The  Boss  let  go  of  the  young  man's  shoulder  and 
snorted  disgustedly, ' '  Bugs ! ' ' 

As  he  went  out  of  the  door,  boiling  with  rage  and 
disappointment,  Hennessy  turned  and  called  back 
over  his  shoulder: 

"Reckon  you'll  come  out  o'  this  all  right,  Bo,  if 
the  Doc.  is  onto  his  job,  an'  if  ye  do,  the  lawyers '11 
have  better  luck  makin'  ye  talk  than  I  did.  You'll 
not  need  any  third  degree  beforehand,  anyhow. 
Your  case  is  a  lead  pipe  cinch. ' ' 

The  following  morning  Hennessy  returned  to 
A  .  .  .,  and  in  a  state  of  mind  far  different  than 
on  the  evening  on  which  our  story  opens,  took  the 
boat  to  New  York. 

The  attraction  which  women  had  for  the  Boss  was 
not  tinged  by  any  idealism  or  sentiment,  but  was 
of  a  purely  physical  character.  The  desire  to  pos- 
sess was  stronger  while  it  lasted  than  the  more 
tender,  enduring  quality  of  desire  of  which  poets 
and  romancers  are  wont  to  rave,  and  his  resent- 
ment of  any  interference  with  his  sex  cravings  was 


124  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

as  fierce  as  it  was  primitive.  He  not  only  no  longer 
cared  for  Maggie  Halloran,  but  regarded  her  as 
an  unappreciative  fool,  and  hated  her  most  cordial- 
ly. His  heart  was  invulnerable  to  hurt,  but  his 
pride  and  prestige  were  not,  and  his  one  thought  now 
was  revenge,  but  revenge  upon  the  man  whom  he 
erroneously  considered  hfs  successful  rival  was  not 
all  he  sought ;  he  included  Maggie  Halloran  in  his 
wrath.  She  had  turned  him  down — that  was  enough. 

Hennessy  was  a  savage  and  relentless  hater.  He 
never  forgave  an  injury,  and  when  he  went  after 
his  man  stopped  not  until  he  got  him.  In  injuring 
Parkyn  he  felt  that  he  not  only  would  revenge  him- 
self upon  a  favored  rival,  but  also  would  take  the 
shortest  cut  to  evening  up  matters  with  the  woman 
who  had  scorned  his  high  and  mighty  self. 

Like  all  of  his  vengeful,  lawless  kind,  the  Boss 
dearly  loved  to  partake  of  funeral  baked  meats  at 
the  expense  of  a  foe.  The  sight  of  sorrowful 
smilax  and  immortelles  also  was  a  joy  to  his  heart, 
and  the  smell  of  tuberoses  and  such  trimmings  on 
an  enemy's  coffin  was  as  incense  to  his  nostrils. 
This,  however,  was  better.  Dead  men  tell  no  tales, 
but  here  was  a  live  one  who,  for  Hennessy 's  pur- 
poses, at  present  was  worth  a  dozen  dead  ones. 

"The  big  stiff  may  get  croaked  on  a  string,  but 
it'll  be  by  a  guy  that's  licensed  reg'lar  to  do  the 
cookin',"  he  chuckled  to  himself. 

Things  certainly  were  coming  his  way,  and  as  the 
Boss  sat  at  a  table  in  the  bar-room  of  the  boat  with 
his  feet  cocked  up  on  a  chair,  a  bottle  of  whisky,  a 
siphon  of  seltzer  and  a  tall  glass  in  his  hand,  smoking 
a  fat,  black,  maduro  perfecto,  "three  for  a  half." 
he  softly  hummed  a  tune  that  just  then  was  very  pop- 
ular in  gang-land : 


TEOUBLE  AND  PEACE  MAKEE    125 

"Dere  was  a  man  in  New  York  town,  an'  he  was  mighty 

wise, 
'Till  he  took  a  stroll  in  de  Bow-er-ee  an'  met  two  strong 

arm  guys. 
Dey  stuck   'im  up  an'  rolled   'im;  to  tell  dis  gives  me 

pain. 

Dey  broke  his  bean  an  croaked   'im,  an' — he — never — 
peeped — again. ' ' 

Unquestionably,  Mr.  Thomas-Boss-Bull-Hennes- 
sy  was  happy.  Standards  vary,  of  course. 

" There's  just  nothin'  to  it!"  he  murmured,  con- 
tentedly, as  he  lighted  a  fresh  cigar  and  helped  him- 
self to  another  stiff  drink. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  GUEST  OF  THE  COUNTY 

For  the  first  few  days  after  his  removal  to  the 
county  jail  at  B  .  .  .,  Parkyn  remained  practical- 
ly indifferent  to  his  surroundings.  The  wound  in 
his  thigh  no  longer  was  painful,  but  the  slight  in- 
fection that  attended  it  was  aggravated  by  the  me- 
chanical disturbance  incidental  to  the  trip  from 
A  ...  and  did  not  yield  promptly  to  treatment, 
although  Halloran  had  employed  a  competent  sur- 
geon to  continue  the  management  of  the  case.  The 
brain  depression  consequent  upon  septic  absorption, 
combined  with  the  shock  of  the  injury — from  the  ef- 
fects of  which  he  had  not  quite  recovered — and  the 
continued  exhaustion  incidental  to  the  loss  of  blood 
he  had  experienced,  to  a  certain  extent  still  be- 
numbed the  young  man's  mental  faculties. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  Parkyn 's  mag- 
nificent constitution  asserted  itself,  his  temperature 
subsided,  the  wound  rapidly  healed  and  he  began  to 
take  a  lively  interest  in  his  decidedly  unpleasant  sit- 
uation. Bail  having  been  refused — which  refusal 
was  superfluous,  as  the  young  man  was  without 
financial  resources — the  prisoner  found  himself 
compelled  to  face  a  period  of  jail  life  that  was  as 
disagreeable  as  it  was  indefinite. 

There  undoubtedly  have  been  worse  dungeons  in 
the  world  than  the  jail  at  B  .  .  .,  but  it  must  be 


A  GUEST  OF  THE  COUNTY  127 

confessed  that  for  discomfort  the  institution  was 
a  match  for  almost  anything  in  the  jail  line  then 
extant.  It  probably  would  have  made  some  medie- 
val prisons  look  to  their  laurels. 

The  County  Court  House,  in  the  rear  of  which, 
in  a  sort  of  annex,  was  the  jail,  was  a  remarkable 
building  of  brick,  built  when  B  .  .  .  was  young, 
that  had  not  kept  pace  with  the  rest  of  the  town. 

It  is  true  that  as  B  ...  grew  in  size  and  im- 
portance the  authorities  had  endeavored  to  adapt 
the  courthouse  to  the  increasing  necessities  of  their 
constituency,  but  they  built  neither  wisely  nor  well. 
Instead  of  tearing  down  the  old  building  and  re- 
placing it  with  a  new  and  more  modern  structure, 
they  had  built  addition  after  addition  onto  the  orig- 
inal building  until  it  was  an  uncouth  architectural 
monstrosity  and  as  unsanitary  and  inconvenient  as 
the  ingenuity  of  ignorance  could  make  it.  The  jail 
originally  was  an  afterthought  and  evidently  was 
built  in  the  rear  of  the  main  building  chiefly  be- 
cause the  space  was  useless  for  any  other  purpose. 

On  one  side  of  the  courthouse  was  a  fire-engine 
house,  and  on  the  other  a  livery  stable.  On  the  side 
of  the  alley  opposite  the  jail  were  numerous  pri- 
vate stables.  The  offal  from  these  various  sources, 
combined  with  the  garbage  that  was  indiscriminate- 
ly thrown  into  the  alley,  furnished  an  effluvium 
which  was  well  nigh  insupportable.  As  the  light  and 
ventilation  of  the  jail  were  provided  by  a  single  iron- 
barred,  unscreened  window  overlooking  the  alley, 
the  consequent  imitation  of  the  Black  Hole  of  Cal- 
cutta was  closer  than  was  comfortable  for  any  luck- 
less individual  who  chanced  to  be  entertained  at  the 
expense  of  the  county.  To  insure  against  any  pos- 
sibility of  the  inmates  of  the  jail  getting  a  sufficient 


128  TKUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

amount  of  light  and  God's  oxygen,  the  cells  were  lo- 
cated on  the  side  farthest  away  from  the  window. 
This  arrangement  undoubtedly  was  considered  an 
evidence  of  the  builder's  profound  knowledge  of 
prison  architecture,  for  it  certainly  conformed  to 
the  prevalent  ideas  of  correct  form  in  prison  build- 
ing— prevalent  not  only  then,  but  even  now. 

Huge,  buzzing,  droning  swarms  of  flies,  in  which 
the  genuses  blue-bottle  and  horse-fly  were  much  in 
evidence,  added  their  quota  of  nastiness  to  the  fes- 
tering mass  of  filth  in  which  the  alley  abounded. 

Much  has  been  said  and  written  regarding  the 
evil  propensities  of  the  domestic  fly,  but  no  one  ever 
has  accused  him  of  unsociability  or  stinginess.  He 
is  especially  sociable  at  meal  times,  and  more  than 
liberal  in  sharing  with  his  hosts  anything  that  he 
may  have  picked  up  in  the  stable-yard  or  garbage 
can.  As  he  neglects  to  wash  his  feet,  when  he  dines 
with  his  human  hosts  he  always  gives  liberally  of 
his  store  of  filth  in  exchange  for  such  particles  of 
food  or  portions  of  drink  as  he  may  appropriate 
for  his  own  nourishment.  He  is  especially  prodigal 
in  the  distribution  of  the  microbes  of  disease — his 
favorite  contribution  being  the  bacillus  of  typhoid. 
The  flies  of  B  ...  were  wont  to  congregate  in 
great  swarms  in  and  about  the  jail,  and  were  even 
more  sociable  and  offensive  than  the  majority  of 
their  kind. 

At  the  time  of  his  incarceration  Parkyn  was  the 
only  steady  boarder  in  the  county's  caravansary  and 
had  an  almost  constant  monopoly  of  the  flies.  An  oc- 
casional " drunk  and  disorderly"  was  thrown  into 
the  jail,  but  as  such  law-breakers  were  transients 
and  usually  were  jailed  at  night,  their  cases  being 
disposed  of  in  the  morning,  they  did  very  little  to 


A  GUEST  OF  THE  COUNTY  129 

assist   the  young  man   in   entertaining  his   buzzy 
guests. 

One  useful  function,  however,  was  subserved  by 
these  drunks.  They  seemed  to  divert  from  Parkyn 
the  attention  of  other  and  more  carnivorous  insect 
pests  with  which  the  jail  was  infested.  Whether  the 
alcoholized  blood  of  the  aforesaid  transient  guests 
was  more  agreeable  than  Parkyn 's  to  the  palates  of 
the  blood-thirsty  insects,  or  so  stupefied  them  that 
they  lost  interest  in  the  search  for  fresh  victims,  is 
open  to  question,  but  certain  it  is  that  he  was  able 
to  sleep  in  comparative  comfort  when  he  had  a 
drunk  or  two  for  fellow-prisoners. 

By  energetic  battling  with  the  insect  marauders 
of  the  night,  succeeding  generations  of  prisoners  had 
added  much  to  the  weird  general  color  design  of 
the  jail  interior.  Around  the  walls  was  a  splotchy 
red  dado,  with  radiating  perpendicular  streaks  along 
the  cracks  of  the  matched  boarding  with  which  the 
room  was  walled  and  ceiled  in  lieu  of  plaster.  Blend- 
ing with  the  dingy,  age-yellowed  whitewash  of  the 
walls  this  coloring  was  most  deappetizing.  Parkyn 's 
disgust  when  he  discovered  that  the  incongruous  col- 
or effect  was  due  to  crushed  vermin,  may  be  imag- 
ined. 

The  rude  bunk  on  which  the  prisoner  was  expect- 
ed to  woo  the  drowsy  god,  was  in  keeping  with  the 
other  appointments  of  the  jail.  The  linen  was 
rusty  with  age  and  mildewed  from  dampness  and 
lack  of  airing.  The  musty  smell  of  the  bed-clothes 
was  commingled  with  the  characteristic  odor  of  the 
human  body  which  told  of  the  infrequency  of  laund- 
ering, and  suggested  that  the  authorities  believed  in 
making  such  luckless  occupants  of  the  gaol  as  were 
not  used  to  regular  bathing,  feel  perfectly  at  home. 


130  TBUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

The  blankets  which  theoretically  were  supposed 
to  protect  the  occupant  from  the  cold  in  rigouous 
weather,  presented  an  embarrasing  problem  for  the 
prisoner  who  was  compelled  to  rely  upon  them  for 
warmth  and  comfort.  Semi-occasional  and  imper- 
fect washings  had  distinctly  failed  to  improve  their 
appearance,  but  had  been  very  successful  in  shrink- 
ing their  proportions. 

The  weather  suddenly  had  turned  cold  and  rainy, 
and  Parkyn  struggled  with  the  blankets  for  several 
nights  in  the  vain  endeavor  to  compromise  between 
cold  feet  and  exposure  of  his  chest  to  chill.  The  ef- 
fort to  cover  the  one,  resulted  disastrously  to  the 
other.  He  finally  gave  up  in  despair  and  slept  in 
his  socks,  devoting  the  blanket  chiefly  to  the  pro- 
tection of  his  lungs. 

The  blankets  were  rivaled  by  the  mattress  in 
their  ambition  to  make  the  occupant  of  the  bunk 
thoroughly  uncomfortable.  It  was  upholstered  with 
excelsior,  in  which,  apparently,  there  was  a  large 
admixture  of  ordinary  pine  shavings.  This  uphol- 
stering had  segregated  itself  into  veritable  islands 
and  continents  of  torture. 

Parkyn  consoled  himself  with  the  reflection  that 
the  lumps  of  excelsior  which  made  his  nights  one 
long,  dreary  round  of  fragmentary  sleep  and  wake- 
ful discomfort,  were  not  composed  of  splinters.  He 
did  at  least  escape  with  sundry  areas  of  angrily 
reddened  and  tender  skin.  There  were  no  real  lac- 
erations, and  this  gave  the  prisoner  a  hopeful  view 
of  conditions.  It  seemed  reasonable  to  suppose  that 
his  skin  finally  would  become  so  tough  from  con- 
stant mechanical  abuse  that  nothing  short  of  a  bullet 
or  a  knife  ever  could  penetrate  it. 

To  make  doubly  certain  the  misery  of  the  guests 


A  GUEST  OF  THE  COUNTY  131 

of  the  county,  the  builder  of  the  jail  with  diabolic 
ingenuity  had  constructed  it  only  one  story  in  height. 
As  there  was  no  air  space  above  the  ceiling,  the  ef- 
fect of  the  sun's  rays  beating  down  upon  the  tarred 
and  graveled  roof  in  hot  weather  was  all  that  the 
most  ardent  believer  in  the  punishment  of  innocent 
as  well  as  guilty  accused  persons  could  desire. 

Discounting  the  flies,  the  diet  end  of  the  sojourn 
in  the  jail  at  B  ...  was  not  open  to  serious  crit- 
icism. Prisoners  were  not  to  be  had  in  sufficient 
numbers  to  make  official  graft  on  their  food  worth 
while,  hence  Parkyn  had  little  to  complain  of  regard- 
ing either  the  quantity  or  quality  of  the  food.  With 
a  few  more  prisoners  to  feed  and  a  course  of  lessons 
in  grafting  from  experienced  officials  in  larger  and 
more  metropolitan  communities,  the  sheriff  of  H  .  . 
County  might  not  have  been  so  liberal. 

There  came  to  the  prisoner  long,  depressing 
stretches  of  loneliness  when  he  cordially  would  have 
welcomed  the  occasional  babbling  drunks  and 
could  even  tolerate  the  noisy  curiosity-seekers  in 
the  alley.  At  such  times  the  thought  of  his  mother 
oppressed  him  dreadfully.  Alone,  ill,  almost  friend- 
less, and  with  the  prop  of  her  old  age  suddenly 
knocked  from  under  her,  he  knew  what  she  must  be 
enduring. 

Halloran  had  seen  Mrs.  Parkyn  several  times 
since  her  son's  arrest,  and  had  reported  her  con- 
dition as  favorably  as  he  could — even  stretching 
a  point  for  the  consolation  of  the  prisoner — but  had 
not  deceived  him  in  the  least.  Her  infrequent  letters 
to  her  boy  told  their  own  pathetic  story.  The  hand- 
writing showed  the  tremulous  hand  of  advancing 
age  and  debility.  He  instinctively  felt  that  he  was 
destined  never  to  see  her  again. 


132  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Then,  too,  he  thought  of  the  promise  the  outside 
world  had  offered  him  of  a  successful  career  in 
his  profession.  He  never  had  lacked  confidence  in 
the  genius  of  hard  work  and  honest  endeavor,  nor 
had  he  ever  lacked  faith  in  his  own  ability,  even  in 
the  dark  days  before  the  railroad  position  gave  him 
his  first  chance  for  himself.  He  believed  that  the 
opportunity  to  work  was  the  only  thing  that  really 
was  essential  to  success. 

The  sudden  transition  of  his  rosy  horizon  of  hope 
into  the  leaden  picture  that  now  confronted  him,  and 
which  in  his  mental  vision  he  saw  growing  still  dark- 
er in  days  to  come,  was  an  excruciating  experience. 
The  contrast  between  the  optimism  of  youthful  an- 
ticipation and  the  gloom  of  disappointment  was  suf- 
ficient to  shock  one  more  sanguine  than  even  the 
young  engineer. 

Time  after  time  he  drew  from  his  pocket  his 
mother's  photograph  and  with  it  the  magazine  pic- 
ture of  the  unknown  young  woman,  from  which  his 
imagination  had  constructed  as  close  an  approxi- 
mation to  the  ideal  as  was  possible  for  one  whose 
mind  was  so  tinged  with  practicality.  As  he  gazed 
on  the  pictures  he  appreciated  more  than  ever  be- 
fore the  maternal  love  that  he  had  enjoyed,  and  that 
other  love  which  might  have  been. 

So  far  as  the  picture  of  the  young  woman  was 
concerned,  his  emotions  naturally  were  not  such  as 
would  have  been  aroused  had  he  known  and  loved 
the  original,  but  the  picture  typified  the  hope  that 
every  properly  constituted  man  should  have,  of  wife 
and  family.  It  was  an  ideal  for  one  who  never  be- 
fore had  definitely  formed  in  his  mind  a  sex  ideal 
of  any  kind.  The  picture  was  emblematic  also,  of 
the  position  in  life  he  had  hoped  some  day  to  win. 


A  GUEST  OF  THE  COUNTY  133 

Parkyn  could  not  help  felicitating  himself  and 
the  fair  unknown  on  their  mutual  good  fortune  in 
never  having  met  and  loved  each  other.  There  were 
just  that  many  less  heart-aches  to  endure,  and  one 
less  victim  to  endure  them.  This  was  meager  con- 
solation, perhaps,  but  it  helped. 

The  monotony  of  the  young  engineer's  jail  life 
rarely  was  broken  by  anything  agreeable  save  the 
occasional  visits  of  John  Halloran,  who  came  to  see 
his  friend  as  often  as  he  could.  Unpleasant  breaks 
in  the  monotonny  were,  however,  more  frequent. 

A  real  live  murderer  was  not  found  in  the  county 
jail  of  B  .  .  .so  often  as  in  the  jails  of  more 
metropolitan  communities,  hence  morbid  curiosity 
on  the  part  of  the  more  unstable  element  of  the  town 
was  not  to  be  wondered  at.  Numbers  of  the  curios- 
ity-seekers braved  the  filth,  noisome  effluvia  and 
swarming  flies  of  the  alley  at  the  rear  of  the  jail 
in  the  hope  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  supposedly 
desperate  criminal  within.  Some  of  these  persons, 
more  morbidly  curious  and  venturesome  than  their 
companions,  boldly  climbed  on  boxes  and  barrels  and 
endeavored  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  desperado. 

The  ubiquitous,  omnipresent  small  boy  comprised 
a  large  part  of  the  sensation  seekers,  and  as  the  small 
boy  of  B  ...  was  a  particularly  noisy  and  ir- 
reverent variety  of  the  pestiferous  species,  Parkyn 's 
life  in  the  county  jail  could  not  have  been  a  dream 
of  ecstatic  bliss,  even  though  other  conditions  had 
been  favorable. 

Worse  even  than  the  flies,  the  smells  and  the  noisy 
little  imps  who  congregated  about  the  jail,  were  the 
curious  members  of  the  fair  sex  who,  on  one  pretext 
or  another,  secured  permission  to  visit  the  prisoner. 
These  ladies,  for  the  most  part,  approached  the  pris- 


134  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

loner's  cage  in  an  apprehensive  state  of  mind  bor- 
dering on  hysteria.  When,  however,  they  found  that 
Parkyn  did  not  fly  at  them  like  the  traditional  wild 
man,  they  lost  their  nervousness  and  allowed  their 
morbid,  quasi-sentimental  interest  in  the  "criminal" 
to  have  full  sway. 

The  romantic,  extremely  young  and  callow  female 
person — who  often  builds  heroes  out  of  very  bad 
clay — was,  of  course,  numerously  in  evidence.  These 
young  persons,  who  had  not  yet  passed  the  green- 
apple  stage  of  sex  development,  were  tolerated  by 
the  prisoner  merely  because  of  the  innocent  amuse- 
ment they  afforded. 

There  were  other  female  visitors,  however,  who 
were  more  annoying,  because  wiser  and  more  ex- 
perienced along  the  lines  of  sex-approach.  Some 
of  these  fair  ones  endeavored  to  solace  the  unfor- 
tunate young  man  by  praying  and  singing  hymns. 
Despite  the  obduracy  of  the  prisoner — who  knew  lit- 
tle or  nothing  of  sex-psychology,  and  therefore  did 
not  receive  that  sort  of  consolation  at  all  hospitably 
or  with  sympathetic  understanding — these  ladies  de- 
cided that  he  was  "a  perfect  dear,"  and  each  and 
every  one  of  them  proceeded  to  more  or  less  openly 
lavish  upon  him  the  blandishments  peculiar  to  the  sex. 
In  fact,  there  was  considerable  rivalry  as  to  who 
should  have  precedence  in  the  matter  of  blandish- 
ments and  frequency  of  visits. 

Taken  all  in  all,  Parkyn 's  experience  in  the  county 
jail  of  B  ...  was  such  that  he  would  have  been 
reconciled  to  almost  any  reasonable  punishment, 
however  undeserved,  that  would  have  enabled  him 
to  escape  his  unpleasant  situation.  He  thought  of 
the  innumerable  instances  in  which  poor  devils  had 
been  permitted  to  lie  in  jail  for  many  months  before 


A  GUEST  OF  THE  COUNTY  135 

trial,  forgotten  perhaps,  like  the  prisoners  in  the 
Bastile.  He  recalled  two  cases,  reported  in  the  daily 
press,  of  poor,  ignorant  foreigners  who  had  been 
committed  to  a  metropolitan  jail  and  allowed  to  re- 
main there  for  a  year,  without  trial,  when  they 
were  discovered  by  sheer  accident;  he  also  recalled 
the  case  of  a  woman  who  was  held  merely  as  a  wit- 
ness, and  allowed  to  lie  in  jail  for  many  months. 
As  he  thought  of  these  unfortunates,  he  grew  almost 
desperate. 

But  the  young  man  gave  himself  unnecessary  anx- 
iety. There  was  no  danger  of  any  prolongation  of 
his  detention  in  jail  because  of  tardy  legal  action. 
Forces  were  at  work  of  which  he  knew  nothing,  and 
moreover,  in  his  particular  case,  his  very  poverty 
and  friendlessness  were  aiding  and  abetting  these 
forces  in  their  endeavor  to  secure  a  speedy  dispen- 
sation of  " justice" — which,  in  his  case,  when  freely 
translated,  meant  " railroading"  him  as  rapidly  as 
was  humanly  possible. 

When  young  Parkyn  learned  that  the  grand  jury 
had  returned  a  true-bill  against  him,  he  was  not 
surprised,  for  that  this  would  occur  had  been  a  fore- 
gone conclusion.  He  was,  however,  astonished  when 
he  learned  that  his  case  had  been  set  for  trial  in 
October. 

The  knowledge  that  his  incarceration  in  the  coun- 
ty jail  would  soon  be  over  was  such  joyful  news 
that,  in  large  measure,  it  tempered  the  pessimism 
with  which  the  prisoner  regarded  the  outcome  of  his 
case.  He  thought,  and  not  without  reason,  that  there 
could  not  possibly  be  a  change  for  the  worse  in  his 
condition,  and  felt  that  even  if  his  surroundings 
had  been  more  pleasant,  the  reality  of  punishment 


136  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

could  not  equal  in  horror  the  discomfort  and  sus- 
pense he  then  was  enduring.  He  did  not  believe  that, 
according  to  law  and  the  evidence,  he  possibly  could 
be  in  danger  of  the  scaffold,  even  though  judges  and 
juries  sometimes  were  dense  in  interpretation  and 
savage  in  execution  of  the  law.  He  had  had  no  legal 
training,  but  like  all  intelligent  men  who  follow  the 
trend  of  current  events,  he  knew  something  of  the 
legal  lines  that  were  drawn  between  man-killings 
and  of  their  classification.  Notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  his  lawyer  was  a  venal  ass,  as  will  be  seen  later, 
Parkyn  had  succeeded  in  getting  from  him  a  more  or 
less  clear  confirmation  of  his  own  ideas  of  the  situa- 
tion. 

Had  the  prisoner  believed  that  he  would  be  com- 
pelled permanently  to  remain  in  the  jail  at  B  ... 
it  is  questionable  whether  even  an  immediate  pros- 
pect of  capital  punishment  itself  would  have  bad  any 
terrors  for  him.  The  loss  of  liberty  alone  is  a  terri- 
ble affliction  for  a  normal  man,  but  when  to  impris- 
onment are  added  all  the  physical  discomforts  and 
inconveniences  that  ignorant  humanity  can  devise, 
matters  become  so  intolerable  that  it  is  not  remark- 
able that  some  sensitive  minds  should  find  death  by 
suicide,  or  even  by  the  hangman's  rope,  pleasanter 
to  contemplate.  Were  it  not  that  long  or  frequent 
imprisonment  blunts  to  a  greater  or  less  degree  the 
sensibilities  of  the  most  refined,  suicides  would  be 
much  more  frequent  in  prisons  than  they  are.  Pos- 
sibly, however,  the  lack  of  opportunity  has  quite 
as  much  to  do  with  the  relative  inf requency  of  self- 
destruction  in  penal  institutions  as  has  the  inevit- 
able deadening  of  the  moral  and  physical  sensibili- 
ties noted  in  criminals. 

The  law  of  our  great  and  glorious  country  pre- 


A  GUEST  OF  THE  COUNTY  137 

sumes  every  man  innocent  until  he  is  proven  guilty. 
Before  trial  it  punishes  the  innocent  and  guilty  alike 
— unless  the  accused  has  money — then  the  innocent 
and  guilty  alike  are  permitted  to  walk  the  pleasant 
paths  of  freedom. 

If  the  punishment  of  the  guilty  were  proportion- 
ate in  severity  to  the  unjust  treatment  accorded  hun- 
dreds of  friendless  accused  persons — many  of  them 
innocent — who  are  held  without  bail  prior  to  trial 
in  this  so-called  "Christian"  land  of  ours,  suicide 
would  be  the  simplest  solution  of  the  problem  facing 
the  criminal. 


CHAPTEB  X 

CREATING  AN  ATMOSPHERE 

As  was  to  have  been  expected,  the  attitude  of 
some  of  their  women  toward  Parkyn  did  not  fail  to 
excite  the  satirical  criticism  of  the  male  population 
ofB  .  .  .. 

"The  women  folks  go  to  the  jail  to  pray  and  re- 
main to  mash,"  said  one  of  the  more  irreverent  of 
these  critics. 

Another,  not  so  irreverently,  perhaps,  but  more 
offensively,  remarked  that  their  conduct  showed 
what  some  women  would  do  to  a  fellow  who  was 
"locked  up  in  a  cage"  and  could  neither  "come 
back,  defend  himself,  nor  get  away. ' ' 

Beneath  the  satire  and  apparent  jocularity  of 
their  attitude  toward  the  foibles  of  their  women 
folks  was  a  glow  of  resentment  on  the  part  of  the 
men  of  B  .  .  .,  in  which  the  primordial  jealousy 
of  the  male  sex  played  a  prominent  part.  This  added 
fuel  to  the  fire  of  social  revengefulness  that  had 
burned  in  H  ...  County,  ever  since  the  murder 
for  which  Parkyn  was  to  be  tried. 

Some  of  the  men  were  infuriated.  Indeed,  had 
it  not  been  for  a  few  of  the  wiser  heads,  several  of 
those  whose  female  relatives  or  friends  had  visited 
the  prisoner  would  have  started  an  agitation  of 
which  a  lynching  party  would  have  been  the  logical 
and  inevitable  sequence. 

After  the  indictment  of  young  Parkyn,  Boss  Hen- 


CREATING  AN  ATMOSPHERE          139 

nessy  was  a  very  busy  man.  He  made  several  trips 
to  B  ...  and  "saw"  everybody  of  importance 
who  was  likely  to  be  in  the  least  interested  in  the 
trial. 

The  Boss  was  a  coarse  worker  if  needs  must,  but 
he  knew  when  to  "draw  it  fine."  He  set  about  his 
work  on  this  occasion  in  a  manner  far  more  subtle 
and  smooth  than  might  have  been  expected  from  one 
of  his  gross  fibre  and  inferior  quality  of  intellect, 
and  with  a  degree  of  success  which  showed  that  one 
often  can  accomplish  more  with  cunning  than  with 
brains. 

Hennessy  was  particularly  careful  to  "play  up" 
the  poor  man  who  "earned  his  living  by  the  sweat 
of  his  brow"  and  who,  according  to  the  verdict  of 
the  coroner's  jury,  had  been  killed  by  a  man  whose 
education  and  position  in  life  should  have  taught 
him  better  things. 

When  talking  to  men  whose  positions  depended 
upon  the  favor  of  politics,  Hennessy  did  not  forget 
to  subtly  suggest  the  political  value  of  attention  to 
one's  patriotic  duty.  This  did  yeoman  service  in 
fanning  the  flame  of  resentment  against  such  bar- 
barous crimes  as  "the  murder  of  that  poor,  unfor- 
tunate working-man. ' ' 

The  railroad  officials,  who  naturally  might  have 
been  expected  to  aid  Parkyn,  even  granting  that  he 
really  had  committed  the  killing  in  the  discharge  of 
what  obviously  was  his  duty,  did  not  offer  to  aid 
him  in  any  way.  Indeed,  the  officers  of  the  road 
took  full  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  ingratiate 
themselves  into  the  good  will  of  the  public  by  dis- 
playing a  virtuous  horror  of  the  crime,  and  a  hypo- 
critical desire  to  see  the  slayer  of  the  poor  laborer 
given  his  just  deserts. 


140  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Then,  too,  the  railway  company  had  troubles  of 
its  own  and  was  not  greatly  concerned  with  the  fate 
of  brawlers  and  murderers,  save  insofar  as  a  dis- 
play of  interest  might  be  of  advantage  to  the  cor- 
poration itself. 

Sundry  conversations  with  Boss  Hennessy  had 
much  to  do  with  the  public-spirited  and  pro-labor 
views  of  the  railroad  officials.  His  indignation  at  the 
slaying  of  one  of  his  honest,  hard-working  laborers, 
was  the  more  infectious  because  of  its  apparent  sin- 
cerity. 

The  Boss  did  not  fail  to  casually  convey  his  sen- 
timents to  the  editor  of  The  Clarion,  the  leading 
weekly  newspaper  of  B  ...  The  editor  was 
fully  impressed,  as  was  to  have  been  expected,  inas- 
much as  he  did  the  county  printing — a  profitable 
graft  that  had  been  given  him  for  his  invaluable  po- 
litical services. 

The   Clarion   was  noted  for  the   ' 'fairness   and 

nch"  of  its  editorial  utterances,  and  its  editor 
become  an  oracle  whose  opinion  it  was  almost 
sacrilege  to  question.  The  reputation  of  the  paper 
for  altruism  and  the  desire  for  justice  to  all  men 
were  well  substantiated  by  its  editorials  on  the  mur- 
der. 

While  deploring  the  "exigencies  of  our  economic 
system,  and  deploring  still  more  any  acts  of  lawless- 
ness or  violence  incidental  to  strikes,"  the  editor  rec- 
ognized the  fact  that  differences  of  opinion  as  to  la- 
bor values  between  employer  and  employe  were  un- 
avoidable. He  felt  sure,  however,  that  matters  were 
fast  arriving  at  a  point  where  mutual  concessions 
would  lead  to  "harmonious  agreement  for  the  peace- 
able settlement  of  all  such  differences.'* 

Having  thus  smugly  and  virtuously  avoided  com- 


CREATING  AN  ATMOSPHERE          141 

mitting  himself  on  the  great  question  at  issue,  the 
editor  proceeded  to  "  deeply  deplore  and  view  with 
alarm  the  awful  crime  committed  almost  in  our  very 
midst."  And  he  did  not  fail  to  speak  in  behalf  of 
those  "honest  sons  of  toil,"  from  whose  ranks  the 
late  Giulio  Maggioli  had  been  so  suddenly  removed 
"by  the  hand  of  the  assassin." 

Then  there  were  * '  the  educated  and  more  cultured 
classes,"  whose  duty  it  was  "to  set  a  worthy  ex- 
ample for  the  toiling  millions,  treat  them  kindly  and 
give  them  their  due  meed  of  appreciation  for  the 
noble  part  they  bear  in  the  world's  work  and  prog- 
ress." 

Here,  the  editor  grew  almost  maudlin:  "And  to 
think  that  an  educated,  presumably  refined  young 
man  of  good  family  and  inf erentially  proper  rearing 
has  been  indicted  for  so  heinous  a  crime  as  the  mur- 
der of  a  poor,  honest,  hard-working  laborer!" 

The  editor  did  not  overlook  the  opportunity  to  call 
attention  to  "the  entente  cordiale  existing  between 
the  murdered  man's  country  and  these  United 
States."  This,  he  contended,  was  a  point  "well 
worthy  of  thoughtful  consideration  by  every  law- 
abiding,  patriotic  citizen  of  the  great  commonwealth 
of  New  York,  and  of  this  great  country  of  ours — 
a  country  that  stands  for  liberty,  equal  rights  and 
brotherly  love. ' ' 

"How  can  we  expect  considerate  treatment  of  our 
citizens  abroad,"  he  pleaded,  "if  we  condone  such 
awful  crimes  perpetrated  by  our  citizens  upon  those 
of  other  and  friendly  lands  ? ' ' 

This  was  a  particularly  telling  point  with  the  cli- 
entele of  The  Clarion.  Some  of  the  readers  did  not 
know  what  an  entente  cordiale  was,  but  all  of  them 
knew  that  it  was  not  one  of  the  many  canned  break- 


142  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

fast  foods  offered  for  their  morning  nourishment 
and  that  it  must,  therefore,  be  something  awe-in- 
spiring. That  it  was  something  that  involved  our 
national  honor  was  made  plain  by  the  editorial.  It 
also  was  made  evident  that,  whatever  it  might  be, 
it  was  a  good  thing  for  Uncle  Sam  to  have  in  the 
house,  so  the  readers  of  The  Clarion  were  duly  im- 
pressed with  the  duty  of  every  law-abiding  patriot 
to  defend  the  entente  cordiale,  with  his  very  life,  if 
need  be. 

The  editor  was  as  careful  to  enjoin  the  readers 
of  The  Clarion  to  withhold  their  judgment  of  the 
case,  as  he  was  adroitly  to  impress  upon  their  minds 
the  belief  that  the  prisoner,  Parkyn,  was  guilty. 

"The  accused  man" — here  the  editor  rose  to  the 
very  heights  of  rhetorical  fancy  and  expression — 
"must  not  be  permitted  to  suffer  from  any  precon- 
ceived opinions  or  adverse  sentiments  on  the  part  of 
the  intelligent  reading  public."  (This,  of  course, 
meant  the  readers  of  The  Clarion).  "Despite  the 
verdict  of  the  coroner 's  jury,  the  minds  of  our  cit- 
izens should  remain  open." 

The  editor  concluded  his  column  of  cant  and  hy- 
pocrisy with  a  fulsome  and  glowing  eulogy  of  Mr. 
Thomas  Hennessy,  who  had  "devoted  so  much  of 
his  valuable  time  to  aiding  the  dispensation  of  jus- 
tice in  behalf  of  the  working  man.  Regrettable  as 
was  the  awful  crime,"  it  offered  as  a  slight  compen- 
sation "the  remarkable  demonstration  of  interest 
in  public  affairs  by  so  busy  and  important  a  man  as 
the  Honorable  Mr.  Hennessy,  of  New  York,"  whose 
interest  in  the  working-man  in  general,  and  the  "fa- 
therly interest"  which  he  took  in  the  men  employed 
by  him  on  his  large  contracts,  were  in  the  opinion  of 
the  editor  worthy  of  special  praise  and  emulation. 


CREATING  AN  ATMOSPHERE          143 

Quoth  the  editorial:  " While  the  circumstances 
that  brought  Mr.  Hennessy  to  B  ...  were  most 
deplorable,  our  citizens  are  to  be  congratulated  on 
the  opportunity  thus  afforded  to  become  more  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  one.  of  the  most  striking 
figures  of  our  great  metropolis.  Few  men  command 
such  respect  and  admiration  for  their  sterling  quali- 
ties, as  does  the  Honorable  Thomas  Hennessy,  a 
statesman  and  public- spirited  citizen  of  whom  New 
York  may  well  be  proud. ' ' 

The  editor  wound  up  his  flattering  tribute  to  ' '  one 
of  the  nation's  truly  great  men,"  by  intimating  that 
the  "gubernatorial  chair"  at  Albany  long  had  been 
yearning  Hennessyward,  and  expressed  the  hope 
that  the  great  man  finally  would  "  sacrifice  himself 
on  the  altar  of  patriotism  and,  yielding  to  the  solic- 
itations of  his  host  of  friends,"  consent  to  occupy 
said  chair. 

Being  taken  seriously  and  gravely  quoted  by  cer- 
tain metropolitan  papers,  the  editorial  created  con- 
siderable excitement  in  New  York's  underworld. 
Visions  of  the  displacement  of  the  high-brow  grafter 
by  the  respectable  crook  so  crowded  the  dreams  of 
the  denizens  of  gang-land,  that  their  nights  were  peo- 
pled with  fairies  turning  the  very  cobbles  of  the 
pavement  into  diamonds,  and  their  days  were  full  of 
rainbows  and  pots  of  gold.  As  "Limpy  Joe" 
Schintzler  expressed  it : 

"De  gang '11  have  some  pull,  b'lieve  me,  an'  every 
right  guy '11  get  his  bit,  w'en  de  Boss  gits  up  ter 
Albany." 

Being  one  of  Five  Points'  heroes,  since  a  "har- 
ness bull"  put  his  right  leg  out  of  commission  with 
a  regulation-38,  one  night  when  he  was  caught 
1  *  sticking  up  a  lush ' '  and  had  ' '  lammed, ' '  not  unwise- 


144  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

ly,  but  too  slowly,  Joe's  sage  prediction  was  received 
with  loud  and  appreciative  acclaim. 

Nobody  laughed  except  Bull  Hennessy  himself. 
He  never  had  read  JEsop,  but  nevertheless,  the  polit- 
ical fox  couldn't  fool  him.  He  knew  that  he  could 
do  everything  but  sing  that  part  of  the  political 
chorus,  and  announced  to  all  and  sundry  that  he 
never  could  be  cajoled  into  dropping  a  real  good 
piece  of  political  cheese  to  provide  a  dinner  for  the 
opposition  fox.  The  gang,  however,  set  this  down 
as  an  evidence  of  modesty  on  his  part. 

Each  suggestive  visit  that  Mr.  Hennessy  made 
to  B  .  .  .in  the  furtherance  of  his  zealous  at- 
tempts to  aid  justice  in  attaining  her  ends,  was  hailed 
with  repetitions  by  different  persons  of  the  warm 
eulogies  that  had  been  heaped  upon  him. 

On  one  of  these  visits  Mr.  Hennessy  took  occa- 
sion to  secure  an  introduction  to  the  Reverend  Ezek- 
iel  Perkins,  the  rector  of  B  .  .  .'s  most  fashion- 
able church.  Like  many  of  his  cloth,  the  reverend 
gentleman  was  of  the  earth  earthy  and  realized  that 
certain  material  advantages  might  accrue  from  ac- 
quaintance with  the  Boss,  hence,  when  he  assured 
that  worthy  that  he  was  delighted  to  meet  him,  the 
clergyman  really  did  not  compound  a  felony  with 
his  conscience,  although  the  Boss  subsequently  said 
that  the  "gospel  sharp  wasn't  no  slouch  at  throwin' 
the  bull-con." 

The  conversation  between  Hennessy  and  the  Rev- 
erend Perkins  was  rather  brief,  because  of  the  pauc- 
ity of  topics  of  mutual  interest.  The  Boss  never  had 
sought  the  society  of  people  of  the  upper  world  who, 
perchance,  might  yearn  to  save  his  soul  or  improve 
his  mind,  while  the  clergyman  was  not  wont  to  dig 
very  deeply  into  the  lower  social  strata  in  quest  of 


CREATING  AN  ATMOSPHERE         145 

souls  that  really  needed  salvation.  The  Boss  re- 
garded "the  man  above"  as  a  fellow  who  always 
had  his  price,  and  the  reverend  gentleman  was  born 
too  soon  to  follow  the  advice  of  that  genial  philoso- 
pher, Mr.  George  Ade,  who  said:  "In  uplifting  the 
masses,  get  underneath." 

There  was  no  common  ground  on  which  Hennessy 
and  the  preacher  could  meet,  save  this :  In  the  course 
of  the  conversation  the  Boss  delicately  intimated  that 
it  really  was  too  bad  that  the  good  citizens  of  B  ... 
had  not  endeavored  to  soften  the  heart  of  the 
man  who  was  awaiting  trial  for  the  murder  of  that 
poor  Italian  laborer,  whom,  Mr.  Hennessy,  had  put 
upon  the  railroad  construction  job  and  thus  inno- 
cently sent  to  his  death.  Here  the  Boss  heaved  a 
hypocritic  sigh  so  deep  that  it  agitated  the  very 
bowels  of  him,  inspiring  a  reciprocal  and  equally 
sincere  responsive  sigh  on  the  part  of  the  Reverend 
Perkins  and  making  the  clergyman's  duty  as  clear 
as  day. 

"Ah!  My  dear  Mr.  Hennessy,  it  remained  for 
you,  a  layman,  to  point  out  to  us  the  pathway  of 
duty,"  replied  the  clergyman,  rolling  his  eyes  heav- 
enward. "We  have  been — er,  most  remiss,  my  dear 
sir,  most  remiss.  I  myself  shall  call  upon  the  pris- 
oner and  do  my — er,  feeble  best,  to  guide  his  feet  into 
the  paths  of  repentance  and — er,  of  peace.  I  thank 
you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  Mr.  Hennessy — 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  sir,  I  thank  you,  for 
thus  kindly  reminding  me  of — er,  my  inattention  to 
the  call  of  professional  duty." 

To  give  the  devil  his  due,  it  must  be  confessed  that 
neither  Mr.  Hennessy  nor  the  Reverend  Perkins  was 
favorably  impressed  with  the  other.  They  vied  with 
each  other,  however,  in  singing  their  mutual  praises, 


146  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

whenever  the  occasion  was  auspicious  and  the  prais- 
es likely  to  bring  forth  fruit.  But  politics  ever  has 
made  strange  bedfellows,  and  a  combination  of 
church  politics  and  the  ordinary  or  garden  variety 
might  have  been  expected  to  make  a  most  incongru- 
ous, even  if  effective,  combination. 

The  clergyman  took  occasion  the  following  morn- 
ing to  call  upon  the  prisoner.  Parkyn  received  him 
cordially  enough  and  listened  politely  to  his  pre- 
liminary remarks  upon  the  weather — a  topic  of  great 
interest  to  a  man  in  jail — but  before  the  clergyman's 
visit  was  concluded,  the  two  men  were  decidedly  at 
loggerheads. 

For  a  time  the  clergyman  went  along  swimmingly 
with  his  tender  offices  of  consolation  and  fine  dis- 
play of  sympathetic  interest — which  he  did  not  feel 
any  more  than  a  phonograph  feels  the  words  that 
flow  through  it.  Indeed,  the  comparison  is  hardly 
just  to  the  phonograph,  for  the  sounds  that  emanate 
from  it  under  the  tracery  of  the  needle  are  a  me- 
chanical reflex  of  impressions  that  really  have  been 
made  upon  the  cylinder.  If,  however,  it  should  be 
contended  that  the  comparison  is  fair  enough,  be- 
cause the  impression  made  upon  the  wax  goes  no 
deeper  than  the  surface,  one  would  be  constrained 
to  agree. 

"I  trust,  my  dear  young  friend,"  bleated  the  Rev- 
verend  Perkins,  tentatively  launching  out  into  deep- 
er water,  "that  you  will  meet  the  ordeal  of  your 
trial  with — er,  Christian  faith  and  fortitude." 

"I'll  do  my  best,  sir,  to  meet  it  with  fortitude  of 
some  kind,"  replied  Parkyn.  "I  am  not,  however, 
a  professed  Christian,  and  I  fear  that  the  conditions 
with  which  I  am  faced  are  not  likely  to  change  me  in 
that  respect." 


CREATING  AN  ATMOSPHERE          147 

"Am  I  to  understand,  my  dear  young  friend,  that 
you  really  are  not  a  Christian?"  asked  the  clergy- 
man, apparently  horrified. 

"  Precisely,  and  I  am  not  going  to  be  frightened 
or  bullied  into  an  expression  of  faith  in  something 
in  which  I  do  not  believe, ' '  replied  the  prisoner  dry- 
ly; "I  may  not  be  made  of  hero  stuff,  but  I'm  not 
exactly  a  coward,  sir. ' ' 

"What!  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  a — a  free- 
thinker— you,  a  young  man  on  the  threshold  of — er, 
life?" 

"Yes,  that  is  exactly  what  I  am,  a  free-thinker — 
and  I  began  young.  I  wish,"  continued  the  young 
man,  bitterly,  "that  I  could  believe  you  to  be  right 
about  the  threshold  of  life,  but  I'm  afraid  that  I  may 
be  on  the  threshold  of  something  quite  different." 

"But,  my  dear  sir,  now  is  the  accepted  time — er, 
for  you  to  turn  your  thoughts  heavenward.  Believe 
in  Jesus,  my  dear  young  friend,  and  your  soul  will 
be  filled  with  the  peace  and  comfort  that  can  come  to 
you  in  no  other  way. ' ' 

"I  believe  that  Jesus  was  a  great  and  good  man, 
Mr.  Perkins,  which  is  as  far  as  I  can  go  with  you 
in  that  direction — and  that  is  hardly  what  you 
want,"  replied  Parkyn.  "But,"  he  went  on,  gloom- 
ily, "I  fancy  that  confidence  in  my  lawyer  would  help 
me  more  in  the  matter  of  facing  the  ordeal  I  am  to 
meet.  Be  that  as  it  may,  however,  I  shall  have  to 
ask  you  to  excuse  me  from  entering  into  a  dis- 
cussion of  spiritual  matters.  I  respect  your  right 
to  your  personal  views  of  such  things,  but  I  claim 
the  same  right  myself." 

"Am  I  to  understand  then,  that  you  er — refuse 
the  kind  offices  of — er,  the  church?" 

"Since  you  put  it  that  way,  yes,"  rejoined  the 


148  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

prisoner.  "Nor  do  I  see  how  I  consistently  could 
do  otherwise.  So  long  as  my  mentality  is  intact, 
I  shall  entertain  the  same  views  in  trouble  that  I  do 
out  of  it.  My  views  may  be  wrong,  but  they  are 
quite  as  likely  to  be  sound  as  any  I  might  be  stam- 
peded into  by  fear." 

"Young  man,"  said  the  clergyman,  coldly,  rising 
and  preparing  to  take  his  leave,  "I  am  not  surprised 
that  you  have  come  to  this.  Your  obduracy  shocks 
me.  You  display  a  hardness  and  lack  of  amenability 
fo  religious  counsel  that  are  positively  horrifying. ' ' 

"I  am  truly  sorry  if  anything  I  have  said  has 
ruffled  your  feelings,  sir,  but  I  can  not  stultify  my- 
self by  a  pretense  of  belief  in  anything  that  does 
not  seem  to  me  to  be  based  upon  logical  premises. 
If  you  sincerely  wish  to  help  me,  why  not  try  and 
pound  some  sense  into  the  heads  of  those  idiots  upon 
whose  testimony  I  am  imprisoned  for  a  murder  I 
did  not  commit.  Supposing  you  intercede  with 
God,"  he  continued,  satirically,  "and  see  if  you 
can't  get  Him  to  inspire  those  witnesses  with  a  clear 
vision  of  the  events  of  that  awful  night  when  that 
poor  Italian  was  killed.  Your  intercession  might  in- 
duce the  Almighty  to  undo  the  mischief  that  has 
been  done  me  with  His  full  knowledge  and  consent." 

Here,  apparently,  was  a  magnificent  opportunity 
for  a  theologic  argument,  but  the  prospect  did  not 
seem  alluring  to  the  Reverend  Perkins.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  appeared  somewhat  perturbed  and  ill  at 
ease.  His  face  grew  red  and  his  eyes  actually  bulged 
with  his  violent  efforts  to  suppress  the  angry  emo- 
tions which  so  ill  become  a  gentleman  of  the  cloth. 

"I  will  bid  you  good  morning,  sir,"  said  the 
clergyman,  stiffly,  when  he  finally  recovered  his 


CEEATING  AN  ATMOSPHEEE         149 

self-possession  sufficiently  to  permit  him  to  speak 
with  something  of  his  wonted  dignity. 

1 '  Good  morning, ' '  returned  Parkyn,  apathetically. 

The  Reverend  Perkins  departed  in  high  dudgeon. 
The  rejection  of  his  pious  offices  hit  him  hard.  He 
did  not  wait  for  the  jailor  to  close  the  door  behind 
him,  but  slammed  it  shut  with  a  vicious  bang  that 
plainly  said,  "Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan !" 

As  the  huge  key  turned  in  the  lock  with  a  creaking 
sound  and  the  rusty  bolt  shot  into  place,  the  prisoner 
wearily  exclaimed : 

"There  are  worse  things  than  being  alone,  even 
in  jail!" 

The  following  Sunday  the  church  over  which  the 
Reverend  Ezekiel  Perkins  presided  was,  if  possible, 
even  more  crowded  than  usual  with  the  elite  of 
B  .  .  .  The  congregation  comprised  a  large  part 
of  the  wealth — and  fashion,  such  as  it  was — of  the 
thriving  town,  while,  as  for  culture,  there  were  many 
of  the  elect  who  claimed  that  their  pastor  had  a  cor- 
ner on  that  particular  commodity. 

The  Reverend  Perkins  was  the  beau  ideal  of  fash- 
ionable clergymen.  He  had  the  gift  of  fervid,  sonor- 
ous oratory,  which,  combined  with  paucity  of  ideas 
and  a  verbal  flux,  is  very  taking  with  persons  who 
mistake  noise  for  argument  and  dogmatism  for  truth. 
In  the  minds  of  his  devotees,  the  holy  man  occupied 
a  place  which  would  have  made  team-work  by  Soc- 
rates, Plato,  Cicero  and  Demosthenes  sound  like  a 
Salvation  Army  street-corner  exhortation.  As  for 
such  moderns  as  Talmage  and  Beecher,  these  weak- 
lings were  not  to  be  mentioned  on  the  same  page  of 
biography  with  the  Reverend  Ezekiel. 


150  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

On  this  particular  Sabbath  morning,  the  reverend 
doctor  was  especially  eloquent  and  convincing — the 
more  so  as  he  had  gone  far  afield  for  his  theme  and 
spoke  upon  "Our  duties  as  citizens  of  a  Christian 
community.*' 

He  waxed  especially  eloquent  over  "the  duty  of 
protecting  the  dear  ones  at  home  and  upholding  the 
integrity  of  that  noble  institution,  the  family. 

"And  the  dear  little  children,  those  bulwarks  of 
our  nation — we  should  remember  them,  and  cherish 
them,  and  guard  them,  and  save  them  for  our  great 
and  glorious  country,  by  bringing  them  into  the 
church — the  only  laboratory  in  which  citizens  worthy 
of  the  name  ever  can  be  made. 

"And  those  who  have  wealth,  and  those  who  have 
culture,  and  those  who  have  education,  and  those  who 
have  social  position,  should  remember  the  poor  and 
the  ignorant,  and  the  sinful  and  the  down-trodden 
and  be  mindful  that  they  too,  have  rights  which  ev- 
ery just  man  is  bound  to  respect  and  conserve,  and 
protect  and  guard." 

The  Reverend  Perkins  now  soared  into  the  ora- 
torical empyrean  and  recklessly  plucked  sputtering 
rhetorical  stars  wherewith  to  garnish  his  discourse, 
until  it  resembled  an  evening  display  of  fireworks 
on  the  Fourth  of  July.  His  audience  was  on  the 
very  heights  of  emotional  exaltation  when  he  began 
gently  sliding  down  to  earth  and  spoke  in  awed, 
throaty,  "gargling"  tones  of  the  "recent  frightful 
murder"  that  hai  been  "committed  almost  at  our 
very  thresholds." 

He  spoke  fervently  of  the  "menace  to  society" 
which  the  "misunderstanding  of  the  well-to-do  by 
the  working-man"  so  often  brought  about. 

"We  all  are  most  deeply  concerned  with  the  wel- 


CREATING  AN  ATMOSPHERE          151 

fare  of  the  honest  working-man — the  bone  and  sinew 
of  our  social  system,  and  we  all  wish,  for  him,  pros- 
perity and  comfort  and  happiness.  Alas!  that  he 
cannot  always  understand." 

The  despairing  sigh  emitted  by  the  fountain  of 
pious  eloquence  at  this  point  duly  impressed  his 
auditors  with  the  density  of  the  working-man's  per- 
ception. 

The  clergyman  now  spoke  of  the  recent  strike.  He 
was  per-fervid  in  his  remarks  at  this  point.  The 
cockles  of  his  heart  always  warmed  when  he  thought 
of  the  railroad  and  steamboat  passes  that  were  so 
snugly  ensconsed  in  the  wallet  which  lay  in  his  left 
breast  pocket,  close  to  the  heart  aforesaid. 

"The  railroads,  those  great  arteries  of  trade  and 
progress,  those  pioneer  agencies  that  so  steadily  ex- 
tend the  frontiers  of  civilization — the  railroads! 
What  could  we  do  without  them  ?  How  many  thous- 
ands of  honest  folk  are  housed,  and  fed  and  clothed 
and  educated  by  those  great  philanthropic  institu- 
tions, the  railroads!" 

The  reverend  doctor  was  quite  sure  that  railroad 
strikes  were  "due  to  a  misunderstanding  and  lack 
of  appreciation  of  the  beneficences  of  those  noble 
institutions,  the  railroads,  on  the  part  of  the  per- 
sons who  were  most  directly  benefited  by  them." 
He  also  was  sure  that  the  time  soon  would  come 
when  God  would  "inspire  the  working-man  with  a 
more  intelligent  understanding  of  the  benevolence 
of  capital — capital,  which  is  so  indispensable  to  all 
enterprise  and  progress. ' ' 

The  recent  murder  of  "an  honest  laborer"  on  the 
New  York  Central  was  especially  deplorable  because 
such  incidents  were  "used  by  unprincipled  men  to 
widen  the  breach  between  capital  and  labor. ' '  And 


152  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

to  think  that  the  man  who  then  was  lying  in  prison, 
awaiting  trial  for  the  awful  deed,  was  "a  man  who 
had  enjoyed  all  the  advantages  which  education  and 
social  opportunities  could  give !  What  an  awful  ex- 
ample for  the  upper  classes  to  set  for  the  toiling 
millions ! ' ' 

"Think,"  he  quavered  dramatically,  his  voice  sur- 
charged with  emotion,  "  think  of  the  dear  wife  and 
little  ones  who,  somewhere  on  the  vine-clad  slopes 
of  sunny  Italy,  await  the  coming  of  that  dear  hus- 
band and  father  who  lies  cold  in  death  and  will  re- 
turn no  more.  What  a  dreadful  burden  that  dear 
family  must  be  on  the  conscience  of  him  who  com- 
mitted the  awful  deed ! ' ' 

To  be  sure,  the  clergyman  had  not  investigated 
the  antecedents  of  the  late  Giulio  Maggioli,  who  was 
an  unmarried  man,  plus,  but  oratorical  license  cov- 
ers a  multitude  of  misstatements,  and  too  close 
scrutiny  of  the  dead  man's  history  would  have 
spoiled  its  effect. 

The  reverend  orator  now  proceeded  to  depict  in 
most  forbidding  colors  the  attitude  of  the  accused 
man  toward  religion.  Never,  in  all  his  professional 
career,  had  he  met  a  person  "so  obdurate  or  so  sac- 
rilegious," as  the  man  who  was  "awaiting  trial  for 
murder"  in  the  county  jail  at  B  .  .  . 

"But,"  the  clergyman  hypocritically  cautioned  his 
hearers,  "  we  must  not  allow  our  desire  to  vindicate 
the  law  and  punish  the  guilty,  to  interfere  with 
our  sense  of  justice." 

At  this  point  Dr.  Perkins  caught  sight  of  Boss 
Hennessy,  who  was  sitting  in  the  rear  of  the  church 
listening  with  great  interest  to  the  clergyman's  flow 
of  eloquence.  This  was  the  preacher's  cue  for  sev- 
eral minutes  of  oratorical  pyrotechnics,  eulogistic 


CREATING  AN  ATMOSPHERE         153 

of  "one  of  New  York's  most  distinguished  citizens, 
temporarily  sojourning  in  our  midst." 

The  reverend  doctor  especially  eulogized  the  in- 
terest which  that  great  citizen,  Mr.  Hennessy,  dis- 
played in  "his  desire  to  see  justice  meted  out  to  him 
who  had  so  cold-bloodedly,  50  ruthlessly,  so  barbar- 
ously, so  relentlessly,  so  suddenly  and  without  warn- 
ing, sent  the  poor  workman  to  meet  his  God. ' '  This 
interest  on  Hennessy 's  part  the  clergyman  accepted 
as  final  and  conclusive  proof  of  the  tender  concern 
which  "the  great,  and  the  wealthy,  and  the  power- 
ful" entertained  for  "the  poor,  and  the  down-trod- 
den, and  the  toiling  masses  of  the  land." 

The  reverend  gentleman  now  prayed  a  most  ur- 
gent prayer,  in  which  he  implored  God  to  bless  ev- 
erybody who,  in  his  estimation,  was  worth  saving, 
from  "that  dear  family  in  sunny  Italy,"  to  the 
officers  of  the  New  York  Central,  and  from  the 
State's  Attorney,  to  that  good  and  great  man,  Mr. 
Hennessy.  He  did  not  forget  the  poor,  and  also 
condescended  to  ask  God  to  bless  the  President  of 
the  United  States ! 

It  was  noticeable  that  the  preacher  did  not  ask 
God  to  bless  the  unfortunate  man  who  was  lying  in 
the  county  jail.  He  did  not  forget  him,  however, 
but  asked  that  his  heart  be  softened  and  his  ear 
made  receptive  to  the  teachings  of  Christianity. 

Mr.  Hennessy  was  so  moved  by  the  sermon  and 
the  prayer  following  it  that  he  ostentatiously  de- 
posited a  twenty  dollar  bill  upon  the  plate.  The 
Reverend  Ezekiel,  from  his  point  of  vantage  in  the 
pulpit,  did  not  fail  to  note  the  great  man's  liberal- 
ity. The  sight  gave  him  much  joy,  and  he  rubbed 
his  palms  together  in  unctuous  satisfaction. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  services,  the  lambs,  the 


154  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

sheep,  the  goats  and  the  wolves  of  the  congregation 
filed  solemnly  out  of  the  church,  their  faces  set  in 
the  placid  contentment  of  the  belief  that,  with  the 
careful  and  explicit  instructions  given  the  Lord  by 
their  able  pastor,  He  could  not  fail  to  comprehend 
His  duty.  The  fervent  supplications  of  the  Rever- 
end Perkins  could  not  but  move  God's  compassion 
for  the  special  benefit  of  those  whose  intermediary 
he  was  that  Sabbath  morning.  The  country,  they 
felt,  was  secure — for  had  not  their  pastor  blessed 
the  President?  As  for  that  family  in  Italy,  they,  too 
were  safe. 

The  next  issue  of  The  Clarion  gave  considerable 
space  to  a  report  of  the  sermon  of  that  "  eloquent 
divine,  Dr.  Ezekiel  Perkins. ' '  The  sermon  also  was 
featured  in  the  editorial  columns,  the  editor  embrac- 
ing the  opportunity- to  rehash  his  previous  comments 
on  the  murder  and  the  individual  who  was  "await- 
ing trial  for  the  awful  deed."  The  editorial  made 
an  especially  strong  plea  for  the  pulpit  as  a  popular 
educator,  and  felicitated  the  town  of  B  .  .  .on 
the  fact  that  so  enlightened  and  progressive  a  man 
as  the  Reverend  Dr.  Perkins  occupied  so  prominent 
a  pulpit  and  exercised  such  a  "powerful  influence  in 
up-lifting  the  masses  and  moulding  public  senti- 
ment." 

The  reverend  doctor's  remarks  regarding  the  mur- 
der were  quoted  verbatim.  Great  stress  was  laid 
upon  the  duty  of  the  commonwealth  in  the  matter  of  a 
fair  and  impartial  trial.  This,  the  editor  felt  con- 
fident, was  a  matter  in  which  the  town  of  B  ... 
was  greatly  to  be  congratulated.  Judge  Wilson, 
1 '  our  eminent  jurist, ' '  before  whom  the  case  was  to 


CREATING  AN  ATMOSPHERE          155 

be  tried,  was  as  noted  for  "the  fairness  and  impar- 
tiality" with  which  he  dispensed  justice  as  he  was 
for  his  "profound  knowledge  of  the  law."  As  for 
Mr.  Sharpies,  "our  eminent  State's  Attorney,"  he 
could  at  all  times  "be  relied  upon  to  do  his  duty." 
The  accused  man  was  especially  fortunate — editori- 
ally— in  being  arraigned  by  one  so  eminently  fair, 
and  still  more  to  be  congratulated  on  the  circum- 
stance that  his  case  was  to  be  tried  before  "so  just 
and  learned  a  jurist. ' ' 

The  editorial  was  especially  concerned  in  advising 
the  citizens  that  they  must  withhold  judgment  as  to 
the  guilt  of  the  prisoner  and  not  allow  their  minds 
to  become  prejudiced,  notwithstanding  the  heinous- 
ness  of  the  crime  of  which  he  was  accused.  Nor 
should  they  allow  the  callosity  of  heart  which  he 
had  exhibited  toward  "the  kind  religious  offices 
tendered  by  the  Reverend  Perkins,  to  bias  their 
judgment  of  the  prisoner's  guilt."  Not  only  the 
judges  and  the  officers  of  the  court,  but  the  entire 
public  at  large  should  regard  the  approaching  trial 
with  fair  and  open  minds. 

The  editor  again  took  occasion  to  laud  Mr.  Hen- 
nessy,  "that  great  man  who  once  more  is  in  our  midst 
on  his  public-spirited  mission  of  furthering,  so  far 
as  lies  in  his  power,  the  ends  of  justice. ' ' 

Here  followed  a  lurid  recapitulation  of  the  killing 
in  all  its  details,  which  adroitly  suggested  to  the 
reader  the  impression  that  the  fracas  between  the 
workmen  had  been  deliberately  planned  by  a  nat- 
urally desperate  character  for  the  purpose  of  en- 
abling him  to  commit  cold-blooded  murder. 

This  part  of  the  editorial  was  read  over  by  Boss 
Hennessy  with  the  feeling  that  even  a  "lobster" 


156  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

like  the  editor  of  The  Clarion,  could  tell  the  truth 
without  reserve  or  malice  aforethought,  and  with 
perfect  safety  to  the  parties  most  interested,  so  long 
as  the  aforesaid  truth  was  merely  the  haphazard 
drivel  in  which  some  editors  are  wont  to  indulge. 
He  shrugged  his  shoulders  suggestively,  however, 
as  he  thought  how  significant  the  editorial  might 
have  been  if  supported  by  a  knowledge  of  the  real 
facts. 

The  details  of  the  coroner's  inquest  and  the  ver- 
dict also  were  rehashed  by  the  paper,  said  details 
being  made  as  gruesome  as  the  editor's  knowledge 
of  emotion- stirring  adjectives  permitted. 

Between  The  Clarion's  editorials,  the  Reverend 
Ezekiel  Perkins'  sermon  and  the  subtle  influence 
of  Boss  Hennessy,  a  proper  ethical  attitude  to- 
ward the  prisoner  on  the  part  of  B  ...  and  its 
environs  was  reasonably  well  assured.  Not  that 
these  influences  were  absolutely  essential  to  the  cre- 
ation of  the  desired  impression.  The  citizens  of 
H  .  .  .  County  had  not  forgotten  the  original  report 
of  the  coroner's  inquest  on  the  body  of  the  slain 
Italian.  With  this  still  fresh  in  their  minds  anything 
further  really  was  supererogation.  Having  been 
told  who  the  guilty  man  was,  there  was  no  difficulty 
in  surrounding  themselves  with  the  atmosphere  of 
"open-mindedness"  which  was  so  essential  to  a  fair 
and  impartial  trial  of  an  accused  person  by  a  jury 
of  his  peers. 

So  favorable  to  fairness  and  open-mindedness  was 
the  atmosphere  of  B  ...  that  people  began  to 
wonder  if  the  jail  was  sufficiently  secure  to  hold  a 
criminal  so  desperate  and  hardened  as  Parkyn.  The 
strongest  doors  and  most  intricate  locks  had  been 


CREATING  AN  ATMOSPHERE         157 

insufficient  to  hold  characters  far  less  desperate  than 
he.  Doors  and  windows  in  B  ...  came  to  be 
locked  with  extra  care,  whilst  in  the  country-side 
round  about,  locks  and  bars  were  affixed  to  doors 
that  never  before  were  locked  or  barred.  No  curfew 
was  necessary  to  hustle  the  children  in  at  night. 
They  went  to  bed  right  after  supper,  and  the  young- 
ster who  did  not  dream  that  the  awful  criminal  in 
the  county  jail  had  broken  out  and  was  " after" 
him,  was  envied  by  his  fellows. 

Young  Parkyn  was  duly  cognizant  and  apprecia- 
tive of  the  efforts  of  The  Clarion,  the  preacher  and 
Boss  Hennessy  in  preparing  an  atmosphere  for  his 
case.  He  was  permitted,  after  a  grave  consultation 
between  the  jailer  and  the  State's  Atorney,  to  read 
the  papers  as  freely  as  he  pleased. 

The  public  prosecutor  was  not  apprehensive  that 
the  prisoner  would  derive  from  the  papers  any  in- 
forination  that  would  prejudice  the  interests  of  the 
state.  Especially  had  he  no  objection  to  the  editorials 
of  The  Clarion  and  the  wonderful  sermons  of  the 
Reverend  Dr.  Perkins.  Indeed,  the  State's  Attorney 
rather  enjoyed  the  thought  of  the  somewhat  dubious 
consolation  which  the  prisoner  was  likely  to  derive 
from  such  literature. 

Mr.  Sharpies,  be  it  remarked,  disliked  young  Par- 
kyn for  reasons  other  than  those  incidental  to  his 
own  official  position  and  his  duty  as  a  citizen.  Very 
much  against  his  will  the  lawyer  instinctively  rec- 
ognized in  the  prisoner  a  man  of  birth,  breeding  and 
education  far  superior  to  his  own.  This,  as  is  not 
rare  with  certain  small  natures,  aroused  in  him  a 
spirit  of  resentment. 

In  the  opinion  of  the  State's  Attorney  it  was  not 


158  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

enough  that  the  young  man  was  heart-broken  over 
his  predicament;  he  rightfully  should  have  been 
crushed  into  worm-like  humility.  But  he  was  not; 
his  indomitable  spirit,  pride,  and  his  consciousness 
of  innocence  shone  through  the  goom  of  his  tribu- 
lations in  a  manner  most  disturbing  to  the  self-con- 
ceit of  the  really  ignorant  and  uncultured  Sharpies. 

Immediately  after  Parkyn's  incarceration  in  the 
county  jail,  Mr.  Sharpies  enlisted  the  aid  of  the 
jailer  and  undertook  to  put  the  prisoner  through  a 
crude  imitation  of  the  ''third  degree."  The  attor- 
ney was  desirous  of  appearing  up-to-date,  and  the 
opportunity  of  acquiring  fame  through  inducing  the 
young  man  to  confess  the  crime  of  which  he  stood 
accused,  seemed  a  short  cut  to  the  approbation  of 
the  citizens  of  the  county. 

But  he  reckoned  without  Parkyn,  who  proved  to  be 
a  very  bad  actor  in  the  little  drama  planned  for  his 
entertainment.  Instead  of  receiving  the  third  de- 
gree in  the  spirit  of  deep  humility  which  should 'per- 
vade the  bosom  of  a  really  docile  prisoner,  he  not 
only  resented  the  methods  of  his  inquisitors,  but 
finally  picked  the  jailer  up  bodily  and  threatened 
to  use  him  as  a  club  wherewith  to  knock  out  the  pros- 
ecutor's brains. 

Being  inexperienced  in  metropolitan  police  meth- 
ods and  having  no  competent  assistant  at  hand,  the 
State's  Attorney  and  the  jailer  parted  company  with 
the  prisoner  as  quickly  as  they  could  without  climb- 
ing out  of  the  window. 

Oddly  enough,  the  jailer  was  much  kinder  to  the 
prisoner  after  this  episode,  probably  because  he  was 
grateful  to  the  young  athlete  for  not  having  used 
him  for  a  club  without  due  and  proper  warning, 


CREATING  AN  ATMOSPHERE          159 

rather  than  as  an  expression  of  his  gratitude  for  the 
narrow  escape  experienced  by  Mr.  Sharpies'  brains. 

Unlike  the  jailer,  however,  the  State's  Attorney 
was  not  a  good  sport,  and  consequently  would  not 
forgive  the  prisoner  for  his  recalcitrancy.  Sharpies 
resented  his  failure  to  secure  a  confession  as  an  in- 
jury personal  to  himself,  and  consquently  needed 
no  whip  or  spur  to  impel  him  to  do  his  patriotic 
duty  of  securing  the  conviction  of  Robert  Parkyn  at 
the  earliest  possible  moment. 

Halloran  soon  discovered  that  Boss  Hennessy  was 
busily  engaged  in  creating  sentiment  adverse  to  the 
young  engineer  and,  without  in  the  least  knowing 
the  reason  for  his  animosity,  took  occasion  to  re- 
monstrate with  him,  in  a  deferential  way,  as  became 
one  who  was  indebted  to  the  great  man  for  his  own 
position. 

The  Boss's  reply  was  hypocritically  impersonal 
and  consistent  with  his  avowed  belief  in  the  pris- 
oner's guilt  and  his  pretended  indignation  at  the 
death  of  the  unfortunate  laborer.  As  Halloran  ex- 
pressed it  to  Parkyn,  "  Anybody  'd  think  that  dead 
Guinea  was  Bull  Hennessy 's  brother." 

Through  it  all  Hennessy 's  attitude  toward  Hallor- 
an was  apparently  friendly  enough,  but  he  neverthe- 
less resolved  to  "break"  the  foreman  if  ever  he  got 
-gay." 


CHAPTER  XI 

LABORERS  WORTHY  OF  THEIR  HIRE 

The  law  permits  the  lowest  and  most  desperate 
criminal  to  have  the  benefit  of  counsel.  He  may  se- 
lect his  own — of  such  quality  and  quantity  as  his 
money  can  buy.  If  he  has  no  money  he  has  counsel 
thrust  upon  him,  for  the  law  is  very  jealous  of  its 
reputation  for  fairness  and  makes  a  fine  show  of  pro- 
tecting it.  Having  regularly  employed  a  prosecutor 
to  land  the  accused  man  in  jail,  or  on  the  scaffold, 
paying  this  functionary  a  premium  of  money  and 
glory  if  he  succeeds,  and  this  official  having  all  the 
power  and  resources  of  the  state  behind  him,  the  con- 
sistency and  benevolence  of  the  law  is  touching. 

Out  of  the  philanthropy  of  the  law  has  sprung 
the  criminal  lawyer,  who  for  glory  or  for  hire  en- 
deavors to  antidote  the  prosaic  venom  of  the  law  and, 
by  hook  or  crook — often  largely  "  crook  " — prevent 
the  public  prosecutor  from  getting  his  pound  of  hard- 
earned  flesh. 

It  apparently  did  not  occur  to  the  Solons  who 
framed  our  criminal  laws,  that  what  was  needed  was 
not  a  public  prosecutor,  but  a  public  trial  lawyer 
to  impartially  investigate  the  merits  of  a  case  as 
the  representative  of  all  the  people — of  which  the 
accused  is  an  integer. 

Still  jealous  of  its  reputation  for  fairness,  and 
to  relieve  its  conscience  of  the  burden  of  the  lawyer 


WORTHY  OF  THEIE  HIRE  161 

who  prosecutes  and  the  lawyer  who  defends,  the 
law  has  given  us  a  jury  of  our  "peers." 

Exactly  how  this  works  out  in  a  criminal  trial  is 
not  clear,  unless  it  be  that  the  average  criminal  is 
ignorant,  and  the  law  feels  obligated  to  prove  its 
point  by  endeavoring  to  exclude  from  the  jury  box 
all  but  the  deplorably  stupid  and  ignorant. 

What  a  thankless  task  is  that  of  the  criminal  law- 
yer !  We  glorify,  but  never  quite  forgive  him,  if  he 
saves  even  his  guilty  client,  any  more  than  we  for- 
give that  other  anachronism,  the  public  prosecutor, 
if  he  does  not  prove  himself  worthy  of  his  hire  by 
doing  his  full  share  in  keeping  our  prisons  full  and 
feeding  victims  to  our  halters  and  electric  chairs. 

Securing  an  attorney  for  his  defense  was  a  serious 
problem  for  young  Parkyn.  The  item  of  money  was 
a  most  important  one.  Until  his  assignment  to  the 
railroad  construction  work  at  A  .  .  .,  his  salary 
had  been  so  meager  that  he  was  unable  to  save  much, 
while  as  for  his  salary  in  his  new  position,  he  had 
not  yet  had  time  to  accumulate  any  savings.  The 
young  man  had  no  friends  who  could  have  aided  him 
if  they  would,  save  John  Halloran,  and  that  good- 
hearted  soul  himself  had  very  little  of  this  world's 
goods. 

Lawyers,  and  especially  good  ones,  cost  money, 
and  it  was  obvious  to  both  Parkyn  and  his  friend 
Halloran,  that  they  had  but  little  latitude  in  the 
matter  of  securing  counsel.  Especially  was  it  clear 
that  eminent  lawyers  from  a  distance  were  not  to  be 
thought  of.  It  was  evident,  therefore,  that  the  ac- 
cused man  perforce  would  be  compelled  to  rely  upon 
local  talent. 


162  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Halloran  was  willing  to  go  the  limit  in  assisting 
the  young  man,  but  even  after  borrowing  several 
hundred  dollars  to  add  to  his  own  and  Parkyn's 
scanty  resources,  that  "limit"  was  not  much.  The 
noble  fellow,  however,  determined  to  do  the  best  he 
could. 

It  was  not  easy  to  secure  a  lawyer  in  B  ... 
The  atmosphere  of  public  fair-and-open-mindedness 
so  assiduously  cultivated  by  the  various  factors 
mentioned  in  the  previous  chapter,  offered  difficul- 
ties. 

Defending  a  man  accused  of  a  heinous  crime  who 
was  pre- judged,  was  not  likely  to  bring  prestige  to 
a  lawyer.  Failure  to  acquit  apparently  was  a  fore- 
gone conclusion  and  there  was  no  particular  glory 
in  that,  while,  as  for  acquittal,  the  man  who  secured 
it  probably  would  live  to  rue  his  success,  if  he  de- 
pended on  his  fees  for  a  livelihood.  There  was  not 
enough  criminal  practice  in  B  ...  county  to  of- 
fer very  fat  picking. 

Halloran,  however,  finally  found  a  lawyer  among 
the  dozen  or  so  in  B  .  .  .,  who  consented  to  take 
the  case.  He  was  a  new-comer,  whose  shingle  had 
been  thrown  to  the  breeze  only  a  few  months  be- 
fore. 

Whether  desperation  at  his  briefless  condition,  the 
probability  of  being  assigned  the  case  by  the  court, 
or  the  modest  fee  tendered  him  by  Halloran  was  the 
consideration  that  impelled  Mr.  Arthur  Hazelton  to 
take  Parkyn's  case,  is  an  open  question,  but  the  fact 
that  he  needed  the  money  probably  is  a  sufficient  ex- 
planation. 

The  lawyer's  older  and  more  experienced  breth- 
ren said  that  he  was  a  fool.  This  explanation  of  his 


WORTHY  OF  THEIR  HIRE  163 

conduct  in  voluntarily  taking  the  case  might  have 
had  more  weight,  were  it  not  that  young  professional 
men  always  have  been  stamped  as  fools  the  instant 
they  have  bobbed  up  in  competition  with  their  eld- 
ers. 

Mr.  Hazelton  was  the  fortunate  possessor  of  an 
assurance  which  could  not  be  either  starved  out,  or 
mitigated  by  any  appearance  of  unpopularity.  That 
he  was  a  great  lawyer,  he  himself  thoroughly  be- 
lieved— he  had  been  the  valedictorian  of  his  class. 
Happily  for  the  young  man,  he  did  not  know  that  in 
the  cemetery  of  dead  hopes  the  ambitions  of  thous- 
ands upon  thousands  of  valedictorians  lie  buried. 
The  dust  and  rust  of  the  passing  centuries  are  thick- 
est on  the  yellowing  pages  of  valedictory  manu- 
scripts. 

Hazelton  had  a  certain  native  cunning  which,  when 
opportunity  knocks  at  the  door,  usually  brings  suc- 
cess if  conditions  are  at  all  propitious.  The  public 
is  so  fond  of  "phony"  metal  that  it  is  eager  to  bite 
at  a  bare  professional  hook. 

Even  when  it  is  not  backed  by  legal  lore,  cunning 
is  irresistible  in  the  profession.  An  old  metropoli- 
tan lawyer  of  great  fame  and  learning  and  a  known 
"jury  fixer,"  who  had  amassed  a  large  fortune  in 
his  profession,  once  remarked,  "I  never  in  my  life 
tried  but  one  case  on  the  square,  and  I  lost  that 
one. ' ' 

Not  to  draw  invidious  parallels,  it  may  be  stated 
that  Hazelton,  some  years  later,  moved  to  a  large 
eastern  city  and  finally  became  both  rich  and  famous 
—his  fame  resting  upon  the  same  secure  foundation 
as  did  that  of  the  gentleman  who  has  just  been 
quoted. 


164  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

The  Honorable  Mr.  Hennessy  learned  that  Parkyn 
had  retained  counsel  and  promptly  investigated  the 
merits  of  Mr.  Hazelton.  The  result  convinced  the 
Boss  that,  so  far  as  legal  acumen  was  concerned, 
there  was  nothing  to  fear  from  that  quarter — which 
point  was  not  so  very  important  after  all,  for  even 
if  Hazelton  had  been  wise  as  Solomon,  the  legal 
mesh  in  which  Parkyn  was  entangled  would  have 
been  too  much  for  the  young  lawyer. 

There  was  one  little  circumstance  in  connection 
with  the  coroner's  inquest,  however,  that  disquieted 
the  Boss.  He  was  not  quite  certain  that  the  relative 
calibers  of  the  ball  that  killed  the  Italian,  and  the 
pistol  used  by  Parkyn,  were  not  a  source  of  danger 
against  which  he  should  guard  himself.  Hazelton 
might  be  a  fool,  but  even  fools  have  a  way  of  "  kick- 
ing the  fat  into  the  fire. ' ' 

The  point  in  question  might  not  be  dangerous  and 
even  if  it  were,  might  not  be  brought  out  at  the  trial, 
but  it  would  not  do  to  take  any  chances,  and  Hennes- 
sy believed  in  a  sure  thing.  And  so  the  Boss  saw 
Hazelton — and,  metaphorically,  also  "saw"  the 
modest  fee  the  lawyer  had  received  from  John  Hal- 
loran  for  Parkyn 's  defense  and  "went  it  several  bet- 
ter." 

Money?  Oh,  no;  the  veteran  politician  was  too 
astute  for  that,  and,  what  was  quite  as  much  to  the 
point,  he  was  something  of  a  bargain  hunter. 

The  Boss  took  care  that  his  acquaintance  with 
Hazelton  began  apparently  in  the  most  casual  man- 
ner in  Mr.  Barney  Mulligan's  saloon,  a  most  conven- 
ient place  for  those  who  had  not  met  Boss  Hennessy, 
to  become  acquainted,  not  only  with  the  great  man 's 


WORTHY  OF  THEIR  HIRE  165 

personality,  but  with  the  power  and  influence  he 
wielded  throughout  the  state  and  especially  in  New 
York  City. 

It  may  be  observed  that  Mr.  Mulligan's  political 
knowledge  and  influence  in  politics  were  by  no  means 
local.  What  he  and  some  of  his  patrons  did  not 
know  about  the  Boss  hardly  would  have  been  suffic- 
ient for  a  theme  for  the  Reverend  Mr.  Perkins. 

Mulligan  introduced  the  two  gentlemen  at  a  meet- 
ing that  was  not  so  casual  as  it  seemed,  Hennessy 
having  beforehand  expressed  to  the  proprietor  of 
the  doggery  a  desire  to  meet  Mr.  Hazelton. 

The  saloon-keeper  may  have  drawn  his  own  in- 
ferences from  this  desire  of  the  Boss's  but  he  was 
a  wise  politician  and  never  delved  into  things  which, 
as  he  intelligently  expressed  it,  took  "no  skin  offen 
me  own  nose." 

The  harmless-looking  frame-up  was  easy.  Mul- 
ligan merely  sent  word  to  Hazelton  that  he  would 
like  to  have  him  call  at  his  place  on  a  little  matter 
of  professional  business.  The  lawyer  stood  not  upon 
his  dignity  nor  the  order  of  his  going,  but  hastened 
to  carry  his  burden  of  legal  lore  to  Mr.  Mulligan 
with  the  fell  design  of  unloading  some  of  it  upon  him, 
at  a  price  which  he  hoped  would  be  agreeable  to  all 
parties  concerned. 

After  Mr.  Hazelton  had  rendered  a  profoundly 
learned  and  verbose  opinion  upon  the  merits  of  a 
little  difficulty  his  client  had  got  into  by  "trowin' 
de  boots  into  a  guy  dat  stuck  up  de  house  f  er  a  round 
o '  drinks, ' '  and  had  received  a  ten  dollar  bill  there- 
for, the  eminent  legal  light  was  invited  to  "have 
somethin'  on  de  house." 


166  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Mr.  Hennessy  was  on  hand  and  was  included  in 
the  invitation.  Hazelton  was  introduced  to  him  in 
a  manner  designed  to  impress  the  lawyer  with  the 
idea  that  he  was  the  most  favored  of  men  in  being 
permitted  to  meet  the  redoubtable  Boss.  As  Hazel- 
ton  already  knew  the  great  man  by  reputation,  this 
was  not  difficult. 

In  the  course  of  several  rounds  of  drinks,  in  the 
negotiation  of  which  he  displayed  a  roll  of  bills  of 
large  denomination,  big  enough  to  choke  the  tradi- 
tional horse,  Hennessy  adroitly  took  advantage  of 
an  opening  made  for  him  by  Mulligan,  who  casually 
mentioned  the  approaching  trial  and  felicitated  the 
accused  man  on  having  retained  "the  smartest  law- 
yer in  th'  hull  d d  county,  be  gobs!" 

The  Boss  was  quick  to  note  the  lack  of  enthusiasm 
that  underlay  the  bombast  with  which  Hazelton 
proclaimed  the  things  he  was  going  to  do  in  the 
coming  trial,  and  immediately  launched  into  an  ex- 
planation of  his  own  interest  in  the  affair,  in  which 
the  American  eagle  was  made  to  scream  most  vocif- 
erously over  the  woes  of  the  honest  working  man 
and  the  virtues  of  the  great  philanthropists  who 
gave  them  employment.  The  Boss  waxed  especially 
wroth  over  the  conduct  of  those  who,  by  violence  and 
ill-advised  counsel,  created  disturbances  embroiling 
capital  and  labor.  And  then  he  spoke  of  his  love 
for  the  toilers  whom  he  employed  on  labor  contracts, 
and  the  awful  shock  he  experienced  from  the  recent 
killing  of  one  of  his  "best  men"  at  A  .  .  .,  a 
crime  that  was  one  of  the  most  atrocious  ever  com- 
mitted in  the  state  of  New  York. 

"There  ain't  no  doubt  in  me  own  mind,"  he  ob- 


WORTHY  OF  THEIR  HIRE  167 

served,  pompously,  "as  ter  who  done  the  killing 
an'  I'm  thinkin'  there  ain't  much  doubt  what's  goin' 
ter  happen.  But  of  course,"  he  continued,  cajoling- 
ly,  "I'm  glad  he's  goin'  ter  have  a  chance  fer  his 
life  by  havin'  a  fine  lawyer  like  you  ter  make  the 
fight  fer  him." 

Mr.  Hennessy  soon  bade  the  lawyer  good  night 
and  went  his  way,  leaving  the  saloonkeeper  to  finish 
the  work  he  had  begun.  And  Mulligan  certainly  did 
his  part.  By  the  time  Hazelton,  a  little  the  worse 
for  wear  incidental  to  several  more  rounds  of  booze, 
wended  his  way  homeward,  he  was  convinced  that 
the  Boss's  good- will  was  a  short  cut  to  wealth  and 
fame,  while  as  for  his  friendship — the  lawyer  grew 
dizzy,  or  rather,  dizzier,  at  the  alluring  prospect. 

As  the  days  went  by,  the  suggestion  of  the  ob- 
vious which  had  been  so  cleverly  implanted  in  the 
mind  of  Mr.  Hazelton,  grew  into  the  settled  convic- 
tion that  a  too  vigorous  or  too  clever  defense  of  his 
poverty-stricken  client,  who  was  foredoomed  to  con- 
viction anyway,  was  not  the  royal  road  to  the  things 
most  desirable  in  life.  In  brief,  it  would  get  him 
nothing.  Inspired  by  this  dominant  idea,  the  lawyer 
resolved  to  take  the  circuitous  and  broad  highway 
in  his  upward  path  to  fame  and  spoils. 

Before  leaving  for  New  York,  Hennessy  had  a  for- 
mal interview  with  Dr.  Danford,  the  coroner's  phy- 
sician, who  made  the  autopsy  on  the  body  of  Giulio 
Maggioli. 

The  Boss  adroitly  submitted  the  matter  of  his 
health  to  the  doctor  and  discussed  with  him  the 
subject  of  his  "bum  kidneys,"  as  gravely  as  though 


168  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

the  medical  gentleman  had  been  a  top-notch  metro- 
politan consultant,  listening  to  the  physician's  sage 
advice  with  a  deference  and  respectful  attention  to 
the  minutest  detail  that  would  have  flattered  greater 
men  than  Dr.  Danford. 

The  outcome  of  the  interview  was  highly  satis- 
factory to  both  gentlemen.  When  they  separated, 
the  physician,  like  Mr.  Hazelton,  had  rosy  visions 
of  future  affluence  and  political  and  professional 
advancement  through  the  influence  and  patronage  of 
the  Boss.  What  was  more  to  the  point,  safely  en- 
sconed  in  the  doctor's  pocket  was  a  substantial 
roll  of  bills  of  goodly  face  value  which,  with  an  in- 
sistency that  really  was  unnecessary,  the  Boss  had 
thrust  upon  him  at  the  conclusion  of  the  professional 
consultation. 

Although  Dr.  Danford  was  inwardly  astounded 
that  anybody  ever  should  have  discovered  that  his 
services  had  a  high  market  value,  the  distinguished 
patient  experienced  little  difficulty  in  convincing  him 
that  he  most  highly  appreciated  the  value  of  a  busy 
professional  man's  time. 

It  had  not  been  easy  for  the  doctor  to  eke  out 
an  existence  for  his  rather  numerous  family,  to  say 
nothing  of  providing  himself  with  the  wherewithal 
to  buy  "nose  paint"  for  those  whose  influence  he 
regarded  as  necessary  to  holding  down  his  political 
job.  He  had  been  used  to  people  slapping  him  on 
the  back  in  lieu  of  a  fee  and  familiarly  addressing 
him  as  "Doc" — a  term  which  bears  the  same  relation 
to  "Doctor,"  that  "gent"  does  to  "gentleman"— 
ever  since  he  entered  practice.  When,  therefore, 
Boss  Hennessy  tendered  him  a  gratuity  of  startling 
proportions,  he  was  constrained  to  agree  with  his 


WOETHY  OF  THEIR  HIRE  169 

patient's  estimate  of  the  value  of  professional  know- 
ledge. 

Be  it  remarked  that,  despite  the  awful  inward 
struggle  which  the  physician  experienced  in  warding 
off  heart  failure  at  the  sight  of  so  much  real  money 
all  in  one  bundle,  he  finally  managed  to  subdue  his 
emotions  sufficiently  to  enable  him  to  accept  it  with 
an  air  that  suggested  familiarity  with  large  fees — 
which  in  no  wise  deceived  Boss  Hennessy.  He  knew 
the  breed;  the  political  Doc  long  since  had  ceased 
to  be  a  novelty  to  him. 

Following  the  professional  "consultation"  the 
Boss  incidentally  led  the  conversation  to  the  murder 
of  Giulio  Maggioli. 

After  Dr.  Danford  had  been  duly  impressed  with 
the  great  interest  Mr.  Hennessy  took  in  the  working 
man  in  general,  and  in  the  fate  of  the  unfortunate 
Italian  in  particular,  the  Boss  proceeded  to  business. 

"Ye  didn't  show  the  ball  at  the  inquest,  did  ye?" 
he  asked  casually. 

"No,  I  forgot  it." 

"Yes,  so  ye  said  at  the  time.  But  o'  course  the 
bullet  didn't  cut  any  ice,  anyhow.  The  case  was  as 
plain  as  the  nose  on  yer  face — it  was  a  pipe." 

The  physician  politely  overlooked  the  somewhat 
pointed  allusion  to  the  most  salient  and  highly  il- 
luminated feature  of  his  physiognomy  and  agreed  as 
to  the  "pipe." 

"That  feller  Parkyn,"  continued  the  Boss,  "ain't 
got  a  ghost  of  a  chance.  If  the  witnesses  that  testi- 
fied at  the  coroner's  inquest  stick  to  their  stories  at 
the  trial,  there'll  be  nothin'  to  it,  an'  he'll  get  what's 
comin'  to  him — the  murderin'  scoundrel!" 

*  *  Oh,  there  '11  be  no  falling  down  in  the  evidence, ' ' 


170  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

replied  the  doctor.  "It  was  too  direct.  Of  course," 
he  added,  "some  of  the  witnesses  might  go  astray 
and—" 

"Git  lost  in  the  shuffle,  eh?"  interrupted  Hennes- 
sy.  "Well  don 't  lose  any  sleep  over  that,  Doc.  None 
of  'em  ain't  goin'  ter  git  lost,  unless  they  croaks." 
The  Boss's  confident  expression  suggested  that  he 
knew  whereof  he  spoke. 

"By  the  way,  Doc,"  he  said,  blandly,  "don't  mind 
if  I  smoke,  do  ye  ?  " 

"Not  in  the  least." 

The  Boss  dove  down  in  his  pocket  and  produced 
his  usual  handful  of  pudgy  black  perfectos. 

"Have  one,  Doc?" 

The  doctor  having  thankfully  accepted  a  weed,  the 
two  lighted  their  cigars  and  settled  down  with  an 
air  of  greatly  increased  sociability  and  intimate  mut- 
ual understanding. 

"Say,  Doc,"  said  Hennessy,  suddenly,  "I'd  like 
ter  see  that  ball,  if  ye  don't  mind." 

* '  Surely  you  may. ' ' 

The  doctor  went  to  the  drawer  in  his  desk,  unlocked 
it,  took  from  it  the  bullet,  and  handed  it  to  the  Boss. 

The  instant  his  fingers  closed  on  the  ball,  Hennes- 
sy knew  that  his  instinctive  impression  of  danger  in 
the  direction  of  that  small  piece  of  lead  was  correct. 
He  glanced  at  it  with  the  eye  of  experience  as  it  lay 
in  his  palm,  and  barely  repressed  a  start  of  dismay. 
The  ball  was  a  .32  and  he  recalled  that  the  gun  with 
which  Parkyn  was  accused  of  doing  the  killing  was 
plainly  of  a  larger  caliber — a  .38 ! 

The  Boss  also  recalled  something  else,  almost  eq- 
ually to  the  point:  Butch  Harris  had  a  peculiarity 
that  was  a  perennial  source  of  jest  in  gang-land — 


WORTHY  OF  THEIR  HIEE  171 

he  carried  a  .32  "rod!"  As  Butch  explained  it,  a 
larger  caliber  not  only  wasted  perfectly  good  lead, 
but  gave  a  fellow  a  lot  of  useless  iron  to  pack  around. 
He  hunted  men,  not  deer,  and  at  close  range,  and  not 
unreasonably  claimed  that  when  a  fellow  could  skill- 
fully handle  a  .32,  a  larger  bore  was  superfluous. 
Then,  too,  it  wasn't  so  noisy  as  a  larger  caliber,  a 
point  of  most  vital  importance.  The  sensitive  ears 
of  the  "bulls"  must  be  protected. 

"All  right,  Butch,"  thought  Hennessy,  as  he 
looked  at  the  ball,  "we'll  let  it  go  at  that — for  the 
present." 

"Funny,  ain't  it,  Doc,"  observed  the  Boss,  reflec- 
tively, "how  a  little  chunk  o'  lead  like  that'll  fix  a 
feller's  clock?" 

"Not  if  you  know  anatomy,"  said  the  doctor, 
pompously,  serenely  confident  that  the  Boss  was  not 
likely  to  discover  his  new  medical  adviser's  own  de- 
ficiencies in  that  direction. 

"When  a  lump  o'  that  stuff  strikes  the  right  spot," 
the  doctor  continued,  "it's  all  off." 

"Wish  you'd  let  me  take  this  for  a  few  days, 
Doc, ' '  said  Hennessy,  carelessly,  reflectively  balanc- 
ing the  pellet  of  lead  in  his  hand. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  do  that !"  protested  the  astonished 
doctor,  "you  see,  I " 

Hennessy  did  not  wait  for  the  obvious  explanation. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  Doc.  I'm  hep  to  all  that 
dope,"  he  replied,  "but  this  yere  bullet  ain't  goin' 
ter  git  lost,  an'  nobody  ain't  goin'  ter  git  wise  that 
I've  got  it.  See?" 

"But  what—?" 

"Just  want  ter  show  it  to  a  doctor  friend  o'  mine 
that's  studyin'  up  such  things,"  interjected  Hen- 


172  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

nessy,  forestalling  the  doctor 's  question.  l '  I  '11  bring 
it  back  to  ye  in  a  few  days.  I  've  got  ter  see  ye  again 
about  them  kidneys  o '  mine,  anyhow. '  ' 

The  Boss  coolly  picked  up  a  piece  of  paper  from 
the  doctor's  desk,  carefully  wrapped  the  ball  in  it 
and  put  the  package  in  his  vest  pocket  before  the 
doctor  could  have  stopped  him,  even  had  he  been 
sufficiently  collected  to  do  so. 

"Come  on,  Doc!"  exclaimed  Hennessy,  familiarly 
slapping  the  doctor  on  the  back,  and  fairly  rattling 
his  teeth;  "lets  go  down  ter  the  hotel  and  have 
a  snifter.  Got  ter  be  good  ter  them  old  kidneys  o ' 
mine,  ye  know.  The  right  kind  o'  medical  advice 
comes  high — and,"  he  said,  significantly,  "I've  got 
ter  see  ye  again." 

Now  Dr.  Danford  was  not  essentially  a  vicious 
man,  nor  absolutely  callous  to  all  sense  of  duty,  but 
he  was  an  irresolute  character.  Boss  Hennessy  had 
taken  him  by  storm  and,  possession  being  nine  points 
of  the  law,  held  the  whip  hand.  Then,  too,  juggling 
with  evidence  for  one  interest  or  another,  was  not 
so  strange  to  the  doctor  as  to  be  really  startling. 
Besides,  how  could  he  set  about  recovering  the  cor- 
pus delicti  without  offending  a  profitable  client — a 
man  whose  influence  was  likely  to  be  immensely  val- 
unable,  if  he  could  but  enlist  it  in  his  own  behalf.  As 
for  retaking  the  bullet  by  force,  one  glance  at  Hen- 
nessy's  burly  frame  and  bull-dog  physiognomy  was 
enough  to  discourage  any  attempts  in  that  direct- 
tion. 

And  so,  as  many  another  weakling  has  done,  the 
physician  took  the  direction  of  the  least  resistance 
— and  most  alluring  prospective. 

"You— you'll  be  very  careful  of  the  ball,  Mr.  Hen- 


WORTHY  OF  THEIE  HIRE  173 

nessy — and — and  you'll  be  sure  to  return  it  prompt- 
ly?" he  stammered. 

11  Surest  thing  ye  know,"  replied  the  Boss,  again 
slapping  him  vigorously  on  the  back. 

"Come  on,  me  boy.  Let's  be  movin',  I'm  so  dry 
I'll  be  spittin'  cotton  in  a  minute."  He  looked  at 
the  clock  on  the  doctor's  mantel — "An'  I  hain't  got 
any  too  much  time  before  my  train  leaves." 

Hennessy  linked  his  arm  in  the  doctor's  and  they 
started  toward  the  hotel. 

At  the  door  of  the  hotel  the  doctor  said  hesitating- 
ly, "You — you  of  course  will  not — " 

"Rap?"  replied  the  Boss>  reading  the  doctor's 

thoughts.  "What  th'  h 1  d'ye  take  me  for? 

Didn't  I  tell  ye  there  wasn't  anybody  goin'  ter  git 
wise?  Fergit  it,  me  boy — fergit  it!" 

By  the  time  Mr.  Hennessy  was  compelled  to  bid 
Dr.  Danford  good  night,  the  two  were  vying  with 
each  other  in  singing,  "For  he's  a  jolly  good  fellow, 
which  nobody  can  deny ! ' ' 

As  for  the  doctor's  conscience,  or  the  slightest 
curiosity  as  to  the  Boss's  intentions  regarding  the 
ball,  they  now  were  negligible  quantities  in  his  cos- 
mos. 


CHAPTER  XII 

SHORT   SHRIFT 

The  stage  Setting  was  complete  for  a  legal  drama 
in  which  the  law  should  doff  its  mantle  of  slow-mov- 
ing majesty,  and  prove  to  a  hitherto  much  abused 
public  that  the  law  was  "right  on  the  job"  and  re- 
solved to  vindicate  itself  in  short  order. 

The  trial  was  set  for  a  term  of  court  which  was 
close  at  hand,  and  for  an  early  day  in  that  term. 
Other  and  less  spectacular  cases  were  set  aside  "by 
mutual  agreement  of  counsel"  to  facilitate  the  hurry- 
up  prosecution  of  the  case  of  The  State  vs.  Robert 
Parkyn. 

This  expeditious  action  was  duly  and  favorably 
commented  on,  not  only  by  the  local  press,  but  by 
the  papers  of  the  larger  cities  in  the  state,  as  an  ex- 
ample for  the  guidance  of  their  own  legal  authori- 
ties. This  greatly  redounded  to  the  glory  of  B  i;>'(; 
and  caused  the  citizens  of  the  entire  county  to  regard 
with  acutely  swollen  pride  those  great  and  faithful 
public  servants  whose  fidelity  to  duty  had  thus  ag- 
grandized them. 

The  Clarion  blew  sundry  additional  editorial 
blasts  designed  to  increase  the  chestiness  of  the 
legal  authorities  and  of  the  people  of  B  .  .  .,  and 
the  Reverend  Ezekiel  Perkins  delivered  another  soul- 
stirring  discourse  on  the  "Call  to  Civic  Duty," 
which  in  turn  was  reported  in  extenso  and  fulsome- 
ly  praised  by  The  Clarion. 


SHOET  SHRIFT  175 

It  was  noticeable  that  the  dominant  note  in  the 
utterances  of  both  the  Reverend  Perkins  and  The 
Clarion  was  not  joy  over  the  promise  of  a  speedy 
trial  of  the  prisoner  which  would  shorten  his  sus- 
pense and  the  time  of  his  imprisonment  in  the  dingy 
jail  of  B  .  .  .,  but  the  prospect  of  an  immediate 
vindication  of  justice  and  the  punishment  of  a  hard- 
ened criminal — with  more  advice  to  the  public  to 
maintain  an  attitude  of  "open-mindedness." 

All  the  conditions  favored  a  "rush"  job  of  legal 
dispensation.  The  law  had  found  another  "goat." 
With  the  exception  of  John  Halloran  there  was  no 
one  but  his  mother  who  was  especially  interested  in 
the  accused.  The  few  friends  of  the  family  who 
still  were  loyal  to  Mrs.  Parkyn,  really  believed  the 
young  man  guilty  of  murder,  while  pretending  in  the 
presence  of  his  mother  to  disbelieve  it. 

Halloran,  as  we  have  seen,  stood  by  to  the  best  of 
his  ability,  but  he  was  without  influence  and  his 
financial  resources  had  been  strained  to  the  utmost 
in  retaining  a  lawyer  for  the  young  engineer's  de- 
fense. As  Parkyn  himself  had  neither  political  nor 
social  prestige,  there  was  nothing  to  postpone  the 
trial  or  influence  public  opinion  in  his  favor. 

The  law  usually  moves  slowly  through  its  jungles 
and  labyrinths  of  delays  and  haltings.  This  slow 
progression  possibly  is  responsible  for  the  euphem- 
ism, the  "majesty"  of  the  law.  Majesty  implies 
something  imperial,  wise,  all-powerful,  greatly  to 
be  admired  and  respected — something  to  be  obeyed 
without  question.  To  the  minds  of  certain  folk — 
who,  whilst  revering  the  spirit  of  the  law,  are  not 
blinded  by  the  glamour  and  glitter  of  its  machinery 


176  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

— it  sometimes  also  suggests  an  arrogant,  pompous, 
congested,  tortoise-like  thing,  from  which  emanate 
refined  cruelties,  flagrant  injustice,  piratical  depre- 
dations, stupid  or  venal  deductions,  asinine  conclus- 
ions and  absurd  application  of  facts,  or  even  of  mis- 
information. 

Noting  these  things  we  can  better  understand 
the  overt  and  anti-social  acts  of  those  poor,  crack- 
brained,  impractical  fools — anarchists  and  dreamers, 
"bull  in  the  china  shop"  theorists — who  "buck" 
the  law.  We  also  can  better  understand  the  psychol- 
ogy of  the  many  turbulent,  unthinking  men,  who,  ob- 
serving the  law's  inconsistencies  and  inefficiency,  are 
even  constrained  to  believe  that,  after  all,  Judge 
Lynch  sometimes  builds  wiser  than  he  knows. 

But  the  law  has  dignity,  an  admirable,  mind-con- 
cealing carriage  of  the  body  of  which  man  has  no  mo- 
nopoly. The  owl,  the  eagle,  the  goose  and  the  snail — • 
all  have  dignity.  But  the  owl  can  not  see  in  the 
light;  the  eagle  preys  upon  the  lambs;  the  goose 
wabbles  most  ridiculously  and  the  snail — 

The  law  being  man-made,  albeit  behind  it  stands 
the  shadow  of  the  ten  commandments — for  the  law 
of  man  has  devoured  all  but  the  shadow  of  the  law 
of  God — why  quarrel  with  its  deficiencies'?  Having 
set  our  despot  upon  the  throne,  let  us  bow  the  knee, 
not  only  to  his  virtues,  but  also  to  all  his  vices, 
crimes  and  defects — thus  rendering  unto  royalty  that 
which  is  royalty's. 

"Great  Caesar,  we  who  are  about  to  rob,  or  to  be 
robbed,  to  imprison,  or  to  be  imprisoned,  to  kill  or 
to  be  killed,  salute  you!" 

How  we  boast  of  the  despot's  beneficence  if  he 
does  not  turn  his  thumb  down — when  our  own  lives 


SHORT  SHRIFT  177 

or  worldly  goods  are  hanging  in  the  balance!  If 
only  he  would  not  sell  himself  to  the  devil,  or  to 
politics,  trusts  and  corporations — which  is  much  the 
same  thing. 

The  slow  movements  of  the  law — known  and  dis- 
respected of  all  men  who  live,  or  struggle  to  live, 
under  its  protecting  banner — have  many  apologists 
and  defenders,  but  all  excuses  fall  to  the  ground  in 
view  of  the  fact  that  when  the  powers  that  rule  us 
so  desire,  they  are  perfectly  capable  of  making  most 
strenuous  and  active  "grand-stand"  plays. 

Lunatics  who  murder  presidents  and  mayors,  and 
those  who  murder  or  assault  men  great  in  politics 
and  finance,  get  short  shrift. 

Backed  by  politics,  popular  excitement  or  public 
opinion,  the  law  can  move  swiftly  and  inexorably 
enough  to  satisfy  the  most  exacting  tax-payer  who 
wants  to  know  what  he  gets  for  his  money.  It  is 
then  that  the  spirit  of  Judge  Lynch  touches  the  hem 
of  the  royal  robe  of  the  law  itself. 

When  a  "goat"  is  found,  he  is  disposed  of  with 
indecent  haste,  greatly  to  the  glory  of  the  law,  and 
especially  of  some  police  authorities  who  welcome  an 
opportunity  to  hoodwink  the  tax-payer  into  the  be- 
lief that  he  gets  value  received. 

The  penniless  and  friendless  man  who  is  accused 
of  crime  often  is  made  to  feel  that  the  law  can  move 
rapidly  enough.  Even  if  his  trial  is  slow  in  coming, 
the  law  has  him  in  the  toils,  just  the  same.  He  lies 
in  jail  friendless,  bailless  and  forgotten  until  the 
machinery  of  the  law  gets  good  and  ready  to  take 
cognizance  of  him,  while  his  more  fortunate,  be- 
cause richer  or  more  powerful,  and  too  often  guilt- 
ier, brother  walks  the  streets  a  free  man.  Even  if 


178  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

the  poor  man  should  be  found  not  guilty,  he  has  no 
redress.  To  him  the  law  doth  not  give;  from  him 
it  taketh  away. 

Until  the  American  Bastiles  have  fallen,  let  those 
who,  in  default  of  bail,  rot  in  vermin-infested  jails 
for  months  whilst  awaiting  trial,  be  duly  thankful 
that  there  are  such  holes  to  rot  in,  for  it  is  thus 
that  we  inculcate  respect  for  the  law  and  stimulate 
the  underdog  to  strive  for  better  things. 

The  laborer  for  the  killing  of  whom  Robert  Parkyn 
was  indicted,  was  of  no  particular  importance  to 
anybody  but  himself,  and  was  even  an  alien  who  had 
not  yet  qualified  for  citizenship.  He  was  merely 
grist  for  the  commercial  mill  in  which  great  cor- 
porations grind  human  life  into  huge  salaries  and 
dividends — into  wealth  of  which  the  producer  is 
given  only  enough  to  keep  body  and  soul  together 
and  enable  him  to  produce  more  wealth.  This,  per- 
haps is  unavoidable,  for  the  giant  corporations  have 
such  an  abundance  of  water  in  their  veins  that  it 
takes  much  of  human  life  to  nourish  them. 

Had  one  of  his  compatriots  been  indicted  for  kill- 
ing Giulio  Maggioli,  there  probably  would  have  been 
very  little  excitement  and  still  less  social  reaction. 
The  law  would  have  gone  on  its  majestic  way,  serene- 
ly conscious  that  it  had  all  the  time  there  was,  and 
that  the  time  was  all  its  own,  not  the  tax-payer's. 

But  this  was  different.  Here  was  an  unexampled 
opportunity  to  pose  for  the  applause  of  the  down- 
trodden working-man  and  prove  to  him  that  every- 
body was  equal  before  the  law — something  which  he 
had  not  often  had  occasion  to  suspect.  The  toiling 
masses  must  be  shown  that  men  in  positions  of  au- 


SHORT  SHRIFT  179 

thority,  men  like  Parkyn,  who  had  enjoyed  both  edu- 
cation and  opportunities — and  had  no  money — could 
not  with  impunity  slay  a  poor  working-man. 

The  time  was  most  propitious  for  a  play  to  the 
gallery.  The  strike  had  thrown  the  fear  of  God 
alike  into  the  hearts  of  capitalists,  politicians,  cor- 
porations and  the  lily-white  fungi  on  the  body  social 
who  neither  toil  nor  spin,  but  live  on  the  wealth 
garnered  by  their  ancestry.  With  these  influences 
behind  it  the  law  could  give  full  sway  to  its  suddenly 
awakened  sense  of  duty  to  the  public. 

The  most  captious  critic  of  the  operations  of  our 
criminal  law  could  not  have  taken  exception  to  the 
manner  in  which  Parkyn 's  case  was  handled.  The 
trial  really  was  a  model  for  dispensers  of  justice. 
Rarely  does  such  unanimity  of  purpose  pervade 
the  entire  personnel  of  those  on  whom  devolves  the 
unpleasant  duty  of  vindicating,  through  the  medium 
of  the  criminal  courts,  the  outraged  feelings  of  so- 
ciety. 

Everybody  and  everything  seemed  to  be  especially 
harmonious  in  the  matter  of  speed.  The  manage- 
ment of  the  case  throughout  was  one  of  urgent  haste 
and  quick  dispatch.  It  was  as  if  judge,  jury  and  at- 
torneys for  both  sides  had  agreed  that,  inasmuch  as 
conviction  was  certain  anyway,  it  was  best  to  hurry 
up  matters  and  get  the  thing  over  with  as  quickly 
as  consistent  with  due  legal  forms  and  customs. 

The  harmony  between  the  public  prosecutor  and, 
save  the  mark,  "the  attorney  for  the  defense," 
might  have  served  as  a  lesson  for  those  unenlight- 
ened laymen  who  believe  that  opposing  counsel  al- 
ways engage  in  a  bitter  oratorical  battle  over  the 
merits  of  the  case.  The  exquisite  courtesy  that  pre- 


180  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

vailed  between  the  State's  Attorney,  Mr.  Sharpies, 
and  the  distinguished  Mr.  Hazelton,  was  worthy  of 
emulation  by  all  budding  scions  of  the  legal  tree. 

The  onlooker  might  have  thought,  and  not  unrea- 
sonably, that  the  two  eminent  legal  lights  were  striv- 
ing to  show  how  learned  counsel  can  combine  in  a 
harmonious  effort  to  avoid  all  differences  in  the  in- 
terpretation of  the  law  which  might  embarrass  the 
progress  of  justice.  There  was,  to  be  sure,  an  out- 
ward seeming  of  controversy  in  the  matter  of  selec- 
tion of  a  jury,  but  apparently  this  was  merely  a  sop 
thrown  to  the  Cerberus  of  form  and  custom. 

The  material  from  which  a  jury  finally  was  select- 
ed was  as  satisfactory  as  any  conscientious  public 
prosecutor  could  have  desired.  The  most  zealous  and 
ardent  defender  of  society's  interests  would  have 
experienced  difficulty  in  finding  prospective  jurymen 
who  would  have  been  less  promising  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  defense. 

Mr.  Hazelton  was  particularly  fortunate  in  that  an 
outcome  of  the  case  disastrous  to  his  client  hardly 
could  be  charged  to  ignorance  or  lack  of  enthusiasm 
on  the  part  of  his  attorney.  His  obvious  defense 
would  have  been  that  that  particular  jury  had  tried 
the  case  and  prepared  a  verdict  long  before  its  mem- 
bers ever  were  gathered  in  by  the  venire. 

It  is  proverbial  that  our  legal  system  has  tacitly 
established  the  rule  that  any  semblance  of  intelli- 
gence or  the  slightest  interest  in  human  affairs  is 
conclusive  evidence  of  unfitness  for  jury  service. 
From  this  view-point  the  venire  in  Parkyn's  case 
had  been  so  carefully  drawn  that  the  ends  of  justice 
of  necessity  must  have  been  conserved. 

The  prospective  jurors  looked  as  wise  as  so  many 


SHORT  SHRIFT  181 

Solomons.  As  Parkyn  inspected  them  he  wondered 
how  on  earth  the  court  managed  to  find  so  many 
beards  in  a  single  county.  Such  a  miscellaneous 
collection  of  whiskers  would  have  excited  comment 
in  almost  any  civilized  community.  And  colors !  It 
would  have  been  hard  to  conceive  of  a  more  incon- 
gruous assortment  of  color  effects  in  hirsute  adorn- 
ment. Not  only  was  there  a  wide  diversity  of  color 
among  individual  beards,  but  many  of  them  had  a 
variegated  arrangement  of  hues  that  was  all  their 
own.  A  number  had  an  over-lay  of  yellow-brown 
stain  from  tobacco  juice  that  was  as  unesthetic  as 
it  was  democratic.  Some  even  had  enough  stale  par- 
ticles of  food  clinging  to  their  whiskers  to  give  one 
a  fairly  accurate  idea  of  their  dietary  for  several 
days  past. 

When  whiskers  became  unfashionable,  a  very  im- 
portant index  of  facial  character  was  lost.  The  pa- 
triarchal benignity  and  uncleanliness  of  the  long, 
flowing  beard,  the  punctilious  neatness  of  the  Van 
Dyke,  the  smug  self-satisfaction  of  the  bushy  side- 
whisker;  the  servility  and  cold-bloodedness  of  the 
close-clipped  mutton-chop,  and  the  pious  hypocrisy 
and  sternness  of  the  smooth  upperlip  super-added  to 
the  luxuriant  beard  of  different  forms,  doubtless 
have  impressed  all  students  of  physiognomy.  Had 
such  a  student  been  in  the  prisoner's  position,  he 
could  have  derived  very  little  comfort  from  a  survey 
of  the  faces  of  the  men  who  constituted  the  venire 
drawn  in  the  case  of  the  State  of  New  York  vs.  Rob- 
ert Parkyn. 

There  was  a  predominance  of  smooth  upper  lips 
associated  with  whiskers  of  the  Uncle  Sam  "billy- 
goat"  type,  or  with  the  familiar  "Rooney"  whisker. 


182  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

The  occasional  sweeping  full  beard  and  mustache  in 
the  crowd  merely  served  to  make  those  smooth  up- 
per lips  appear  more  austere  and  forbidding. 

A  small  minority  of  the  veniremen  were  clean- 
shaven. These  were  mainly  towns-people,  who 
seemed  out  of  place  among  the  hairy  faces  that  sur- 
rounded them. 

The  usual  farce  was  enacted  during  the  empanel- 
ing of  the  jury. 

Several  men  in  the  venire  were  excused  on  easily 
procured  medical  certificates  of  genuine  or  imagin- 
ary ailments,  after  which  the  real  business  of  select- 
ing a  jury  began. 

All  those  examined  had  heard  of  the  case;  many, 
however,  asserted  that  they  had  not  read  of  it.  The 
majority  had  formed  an  opinion.  A  few  of  the  latter 
asserted  that  their  opinions  could  be  altered  by  the 
evidence,  but  from  the  grim  lines  in  their  faces  the 
merest  tyro  in  physiognomies  could  have  seen  that 
nothing  short  of  evidential  dynamite  ever  would 
have  altered  their  preconceived  opinions. 

It  was  noteworthy  that  a  very  small  proportion 
of  those  examined  evidenced  a  desire  to  evade  jury 
service.  The  majority  showed  an  eagerness  to  serve 
that  would  have  been  refreshing  to  one  familiar 
with  the  difficulties  that  beset  the  courts  of  our  large 
cities  in  endeavoring  to  secure  juries. 

Whether  patriotism  or  some  less  noble  and  more 
practical  sentiment  inspired  the  veniremen  is  an 
open  question.  It  is  possible  that  the  promised 
break  in  the  humdrum  of  a  monotonous  rural  exist- 
ence had  its  influence.  Then,  too,  there  was  the 
rare  opportunity  of  getting  into  the  limelight  of 


SHORT  SHEIFT  183 

publicity.  Egotism  is  not  altogether  unknown,  even 
among  honest  folk  in  rural  communities. 

The  prosecution  apparently  was  willing  to  take 
offhand,  any  twelve  men  from  the  venire — save  and 
excepting  several  who  did  not  believe  in  capital 
punishment  and  who  therefore  might  have  the  qual- 
ity of  mercy  that  is  not  *  *  strained. ' ' 

It  really  was  unnecessary  to  interrogate  the  ven- 
iremen  with  the  smooth  upper  lips  on  the  question 
of  their  attitude  toward  capital  punishment.  It  was 
not  difficult  to  surmise  what  lay  behind  those  inflex- 
ible, steel-trap-like  mouths.  Most  of  these  men  would 
have  hanged  their  grandmothers  on  convincing  evi- 
dence of  guilt  of  murder. 

One  poor,  rheumy-eyed,  trembling  old  man  was  at 
once  excused  by  the  judge.  The  old  fellow  needed 
no  medical  certificate  to  show  that  he  was  unfit  for 
duty.  He  protested,  however,  that  his  health  was 
good  and  that  he  was  fully  capable  of  competent 
jury  service.  So  strong  was  the  spirit  of  this  pal- 
sied, senile  patriot,  and  so  evident  was  his  probable 
attitude  toward  offenders  against  the  law  of  the  land, 
that  the  State's  Attorney  was  fain  to  console  him- 
self for  his  rejection  by  the  thought  that  the  old  fel- 
low might  not  have  lived  through  even  a  short  trial. 

Another  venireman,  who  doubtless  would  have 
been  acceptable — to  the  State's  Attorney  at  least, 
if  not  to  the  defendant 's  attorney — was  so  obviously 
a  half-wit,  that  the  judge  felt  compelled  to  overlook 
the  fact  that  the  man  was  a  juryman  to  the  manner 
born,  and  excused  him. 

The  next  man  examined  was  afflicted  with  an  im- 
pediment of  speech.  He  was  most  expeditiously 
discharged,  to  the  great  relief  of  all  parties  con- 


184  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

cerned.  It  was  evident  that  if  he  were  accepted  and 
any  argument  should  arise  during  the  deliberations 
of  the  jury,  the  stutterer  inevitably  would  delay  the 
game,  and  delay  was  a  thing  little  desired  by  most 
of  the  parties  immediately  concerned — possibly  even 
by  the  accused,  thanks  to  the  horrors  of  the  county 
jail. 

Still  another  man  was  plainly  under  the  influence 
of  liquor  and  was  dismissed  with  a  sharp  reprimand 
from  the  judge. 

There  were  in  all  not  more  than  eight  or  ten  chal- 
lenges for  cause  by  both  sides. 

The  State's  Attorney  seemingly  entertained  a 
prejudice  against  persons  who  had  worked  in  any 
capacity  for  railroads,  although  in  the  case  in  ques- 
tion his  reason  was  not  easy  to  surmise. 

Mr.  Hazelton,  for  his  part,  made  a  fine  show  of  op- 
position to  persons  who  were  members  of  labor  un- 
ions. This  display  of  interest  on  the  part  of  counsel 
for  the  defense  was  a  showy  play  to  the  gallery 
which  deceived  some  people  in  the  courtroom  into 
the  belief  that  Hazelton  really  was  conscientiously 
working  for  his  client. 

Mr.  Sharpies,  however,  smiled  blandly  as  he 
thought  of  the  number  of  farmers  included  in  the 
venire  who  were  not  even  interested  in  labor  unions, 
much  less  members  of  them. 

As  to  the  people  of  the  town  who  had  been  sum- 
moned, several  of  them  were  town  bums  and  loafers 
who  took  no  active  interest  in  the  labor  problem  and 
would  have  had  some  difficulty  in  paying  tithes  to 
unions.  Noting  these  men  the  State's  Attorney 
smiled  again. 

The  defense  challenged  for  cause  three  men  who 
previously  had  served  on  juries  in  murder  trials. 


SHORT  SHEIFT  185 

Several  veniremen  were  accepted  who  had  served 
on  petit  and  grand  juries  and  in  various  cases  other 
than  criminal.  Professional  jurymen,  however, 
were  not  so  much  in  evidence  as  they  would  have 
been  in  a  more  metropolitan  community.  This  ma- 
terially lightened  the  labors  of  the  court. 

There  were  no  peremptory  challenges.  Neither 
side,  apparently,  was  disposed  to  be  captious,  or  to 
take  advantage  of  the  opportunities  provided  by 
law.  This  said  much  for  the  care  with  which  the 
venire  was  drawn.  The  collection  of  veniremen 
was  so  homogeneous  in  appearance  that  the  majority 
of  them  might  have  been  taken  for  blood  kin.  A 
peremptory  challenge  would  have  served  merely  to 
substitute  one  be-whiskered  Solomon  for  another, 
and  thus  to  delay  matters. 

Probably  not  through  inadvertence,  but  advised- 
ly, two  lone  beardless  individuals  were  accepted  as 
jurymen.  One  of  these  was  the  proprietor  of  the 
general  store  in  a  near-by  village,  who  had  presided 
over  so  many  round-the-cuspidor  sessions  of  public- 
spirited  citizens  who  were  wont  to  congregate  about 
his  stove  and  settle  all  momentous  questions  affect- 
ing the  prosperity  of  the  nation,  that  he  had  come 
to  be  considered  an  oracle. 

Hiram  Chase  was  short,  fat  and  rubicund,  with 
a  bald,  shiny  poll  ringed  about  with  a  "moth-eaten" 
gray  fringe  of  hair,  which  seemed  to  be  struggling 
to  descend  his  beefy  neck  in  search  of  a  hiding  place 
behind  the  stiff  standing  collar  that  he  wore  on  all 
state  occasions.  His  nose  was  bulbous,  and  of  a  tinge 
suggesting  that  it  had  been  frosted  from  without  and 
alcoholized  from  within.  His  fishy  eyes,  shaded  by 
heavy,  puffy  lids  that  he  seemingly  could  not  open 
without  special  effort,  peering  through  a  pair  of 


186  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

heavy-rimmed  spectacles  gave  his  countenance  an 
expression  of  profound,  owlish  wisdom. 

The  contrast  between  the  squatty,  almost  hairless 
Mr.  Chase  and  his  gaunt,  hairy,  fellow- jury  men  was 
as  startling  as  it  was  amusing.  He  appeared  to  be 
of  a  species  different  from  his  colleagues,  and  as  he 
sat  there  in  the  jury-box  he  resembled  an  over-sized 
Brownie,  surrounded  by  a  lot  of  be-whiskered  scare- 
crows. 

Whether  because  he  was  different,  or  because  of 
the  oracular  prestige  he  enjoyed,  would  have  been 
difficult  to  say,  but  his  companions  in  the  jury-box 
were  very  deferential  to  Mr.  Chase,  who  accepted  the 
deference  shown  him  with  the  naturalness  which 
habit  only  can  confer.  As  he  squinted  at  the  audi- 
ence from  behind  his  heavy  lids  and  puffed  out  his 
cheeks  at  the  various  telling  points  made  by  the  at- 
torneys, his  appearance  was  most  grotesque,  sug- 
gesting a  bullfrog  in  an  attitude  of  solemn  reflection. 

The  last  man  accepted  was  an  ignorant  mulatto 
who,  despite  his  obvious  density  of  mind  and  hairless 
countenance  seemingly  was  eminently  satisfactory 
to  both  sides.  This  juryman's  mother,  an  unkempt, 
slatternly,  coal-black  wench  of  immense  proportions, 
occupied  throughout  the  trial  a  conspicuous  place 
in  the  front  row  of  the  auditors,  where  she  divided 
her  time  between  snoring  and  gaping  her  adoration 
of  her  cross-bred  offspring  in  the  jury-box. 

During  the  entire  program  of  the  trial  the  jury, 
to  a  man,  appeared  ineffably  bored.  Most  of  the 
court  proceedings  seemed  to  them  entirely  super- 
fluous. Even  during  the  more  or  less  dramatic  per- 
iods in  the  evidence,  the  jury  evidently  gave  atten- 
tion from  morbid  interest  rather  than  because  its 


SHORT  SHRIFT  187 

members  believed  that  the  matter  in  question  had 
any  immediate  bearing  on  the  merits  of  the  case. 
At  the  conclusion  of  the  interesting  point,  the  jury 
dropped  back  into  its  bored,  lethargic  attitude.  A 
few  of  the  jurymen  even  appeared  to  resent  the 
dramatic  periods  as  a  disturbance  of  the  dreamily 
reposeful  attitude  they  had  assumed  at  the  begin- 
ning of  their  duties  and  which,  had  they  not  been 
disturbed  by  superfluous  oratory  and  argument, 
might  have  been  peacefully  maintained  to  the  end 
of  the  trial.  When  thus  rudely  aroused  to  a  sense 
of  their  responsibilities,  the  injured  expression  of 
these  jurors  was  most  appealing. 

Just  as  the  empaneling  of  the  jury  was  about  com- 
pleted, Boss  Hennessy  appeared  at  the  door  of  the 
courtroom.  He  looked  around  and  saw  Dr.  Danford 
sitting  near  Mr.  Sharpies.  A  moment  later,  the  doc- 
tor looked  toward  the  door  and  met  Hennessy 's 
glance.  With  an  almost  imperceptible  motion  of  his 
head  the  Boss  beckoned  the  physician  to  join  him. 

The  doctor  had  been  worrying  considerably  over 
Hennessy 's  failure  to  return  the  ball  as  he  had 
agreed  to  do,  and  was  greatly  relieved  when  he  saw 
his  star  patient's  unattractive  countenance  peering 
into  the  courtroom.  He  hastened  to  join  the  Boss, 
who  had  moved  away  from  the  door  and  down  the 
hall  and  was  standing  near  the  main  entrance  to  the 
building. 

"Hello,  Doc!"  greeted  Hennessy,  genially.  "Did 
ye  think  I'd  thrown  ye  in  the  air?" 

The  physician  enthusiastically  grasped  the  Boss 's 
hand. 

"By  Jove!    Mr.  Hennessy,"  he  exclaimed,  with 


188  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

indubitable  sincerity;  "I  never  in  my  life  was  so 
glad  to  see  anybody.  I  thought  you  sure  had  slipped 
a  cog  somewhere." 

"Nary  a  cog,  Doc,"  replied  Hennessy,  "I  was 
keepin'  tab  all  right.  I  didn't  see  any  use  in  showin' 
up  'till  I  was  needed,  an'  besides,  I  had  ter  round  up 
them  Guineas." 

"But  the  bullet,"  whispered  the  doctor,  "have 
you—?" 

"Sure,  Mike!  Ye  didn't  think  I'd  fall  down  on 
that,  did  ye?" 

Dr.  Danf ord  looked  furtively  around  and  extended 
an  expectant  hand. 

"Oh,  that  little  Joker's  all  right,  Doc.  I've  got 
it  right  here  in  me  keck,"  and  the  Boss  tapped  his 
trousers  pocket.  "I'll  slip  it  to  ye,  bye  an'  bye.  Come 
an '  let 's  have  a  drink.  There 's  plenty  o '  time. ' ' 

The  two  men  repaired  to  the  hotel  across  the  street 
and  had  several  rounds  of  liquor.  By  the  time  they 
returned  to  the  courtroom,  which  they  did  separate- 
ly, the  physician  was  on  very  good  terms  with  both 
himself  and  with  the  world  at  large — especially  was 
he  on  good  terms  with  Mr.  Hennessy. 

As  they  discreetly  parted  at  the  door  of  the  hotel, 
the  Boss  handed  the  doctor  a  small  package  wrapped 
in  tissue  paper. 

"There  she  is,  Doc,  right  side  up  with  care." 

Dr.  Danford  took  the  package,  put  it  in  his  vest 
pocket,  thanked  Mr.  Hennessy  and  gave  a  pungently 
spirituous  sigh  of  relief. 

Hennessy  proved  a  true  prophet  regarding  the 
appearance  at  the  trial  of  the  Italians  who  testified 
at  the  coroner's  inquest.  Only  one  of  the  five  was  mis- 


SHOET  SHEIFT  189 

sing,  and  as  he  was  lying  in  Belleyue  Hospital  with 
a  stiletto-thrust  through  one  of  his  lungs,  received 
at  a  little  social  event  among  his  compatriots,  the 
Boss  was  unable  to  deliver  him  in  time  for  the  trial. 
Several  of  the  men  who  were  wounded  during  the 
fight,  but  who  were  not  summoned  by  the  coroner, 
also  were  in  court  ready  to  testify.  The  Boss  be- 
lieved in  giving  good  measure  when  he  set  about 
rounding  up  witnesses. 

Butch  Harris  entered  the  courtroom  just  before 
Hennessy  appeared  at  the  door.  He  had  come  up 
from  New  York  on  the  same  train  with  the  Boss,  but 
they  had  held  no  communication  en  route. 

As  he  sat  waiting  his  turn  on  the  witness  stand, 
Butch  appeared  ill  at  ease.  He  was  not  especially 
apprehensive  of  danger  to  himself,  but  he  was  not 
fond  of  the  atmosphere  of  courts,  and  the  sight  of 
judges  and  public  prosecutors  never  had  been  pleas- 
ing to  his  eye  or  conducive  to  tranquility  of  his  spir- 
it. He  felt  pretty  well  fortified,  however,  in  his 
role  of  star  witness,  more  particularly  as  even  the 
Boss  himself  did  not  know  exactly  what  happened  on 
the  night  of  the  murder.  He  realized  that  Hennessy 
was  likely  to  do  some  pretty  shrewd  guessing,  but 
under  the  circumstances  that  naturally  was  to  be 
expected. 

Butch,  had  not  taken  his  principal  into  his  confi- 
dence, for  he  felt  that,  although  he  had  been  em- 
ployed by  the  Boss  to  do  Parkyn,  the  less  Hennessy 
knew  of  the  details  of  the  killing  of  the  Italian,  the 
better.  The  thug  had  not  forgotten  the  manner  in 
which  the  Newark  affair  had  been  used  upon  him 
by  the  Boss  as  a  club  for  his  intimidation  on  the  oc- 
casion of  the  frame-up  at  Black  Bill's. 


190  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

The  Strangler  had  received  by  the  underground 
a  liberal  amount  of  money  which  he  well  knew  had 
come  from  Hennessy,  but  he  realized  that  the  Boss 
could  not  be  connected  with  the  killing  of  the  Italian 
by  any  evidence  whatsoever.  The  fates  had  been 
very  kind  to  Hennessy,  and  the  job  that  he  put  up 
on  Parkyn  had  worked  out  in  a  manner  as  fortunate 
to  himself  as  it  was  unexpected. 

There  was  just  a  suspicion  in  Butch 's  mind  that, 
while  in  his  cups,  he  had  talked  too  freely  to  his 
special  female  friend  in  New  York.  He  subsequently 
had  "pumped"  her  most  adroitly,  and  had  been 
unable  to  justify  this  suspicion,  but  the  shadow  of 
it  remained.  He  knew  the  risk  to  the  crook  that  lay 
in  female  companionship,  and  although  he  was  quite 
certain  that,  even  if  he  had  talked  too  much,  there 
was  no  immediate  danger,  the  thought  of  even  re- 
mote danger  did  not  add  to  the  attractiveness  of  the 
witness  stand. 

Hennessy  caught  Butch 's  eye  several  times  and 
noting  his  henchman's  uneasiness  drew  his  own  in- 
ferences, which  were  merely  confirmatory  of  the  con- 
clusions he  already  had  formed.  As  he  had  quite 
positive  knowledge  regarding  the  ball  that  slew  the 
Italian,  Hennessy  found  his  contemplation  of  Butch 
highly  entertaining. 

Never  was  the  pathway  of  justice  smoother  than 
in  the  case  of  the  Commonwealth  of  New  York 
against  young  Parkyn.  The  testimony  was  direct 
and  the  statements  of  the  witnesses  as  explicit  as 
could  have  been  desired. 

The  four  Italians  reeled  off  their  testimony  with- 
out a  hitch.  Not  even  their  limited  knowledge  of 


SHORT  SHRIFT  191 

English  obscured  the  evidence  they  submitted.  Each 
testified  that  he  saw  the  accused  fire  the  fatal  shot. 
Each  of  the  witnesses  also  testified  that  he  himself 
was  unarmed  at  the  time  of  the  murder  and  could 
not  have  been  responsible  for  any  of  the  shots 
fired  during  the  fight. 

The  men  who  were  wounded  in  the  battle  also  were 
ideal  witnesses  for  the  State.  They  were  blissfully 
ignorant  as  to  how  their  hurts  were  received.  They 
might  have  shot  or  stabbed  themselves,  for  aught 
one  could  glean  from  their  testimony.  To  their 
credit  be  it  said,  however,  that  they  did  not  each 
and  everyone  lay  their  various  hurts  at  Parkyn's 
door. 

Hazelton  did  very  little  cross-examining  of  any 
of  the  Italians.  He  had  neither  enthusiasm  nor  loy- 
alty to  his  client,  but  he  was  not  utterly  devoid  of 
common  sense.  He  knew  better  than  to  try  to  con- 
fuse the  witnesses,  while  as  for  inducing  them  to  con- 
tradict themselves,  that  was  out  of  the  question — 
they  were  too  well  drilled,  and  what  little  English 
they  knew  bore  directly  on  the  matter  in  hand.  Then, 
too,  the  interpreter  who  had  been  secured  by  the 
court  was  a  native  born  Italian,  and  could  be  relied 
upon  to  protect  the  witnesses  from  any  admissions 
that  might  have  shaken  their  testimony. 

Although  Hazelton 's  discretion  was  due  to  his  de- 
sire to  protect  his  professional  prestige  rather  than 
to  conserve  the  interests  of  his  client,  his  policy 
nevertheless  redounded  to  his  credit  in  the  minds 
of  some  of  the  better  informed  persons  in  the  court- 
room. 

Hennessy  was  one  of  the  exceptional  wise  ones 
whose  admiration  for  Mr.  Hazelton  was  not  in- 


192  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

creased  by  his  astuteness  in  handling  the  witnesses. 
The  Boss  knew  a  thing  or  two,  and  chuckled  inward- 
ly. 

Mr.  Sharpies  was  placidly  content.  The  witnesses 
were  ideal  from  his  viewpoint,  and  he,  of  course, 
took  no  chances  of  injuring  his  case  by  questioning 
them  further  than  was  necessary. 

Following  the  Italians  came  the  star  witness. 

"William  O'Connor,"  called  Sharpies. 

Butch  Harris  slouched  forward,  twisting  his  hat 
in  his  tremendous  hands  and  looking  at  the  floor  in 
a  hang-dog  fashion  which  so  exasperated  Hennessy, 
who  was  watching  him  closely,  that  he  felt  an  almost 
uncontrollable  impulse  to  kick  him  as  he  passed 
through  the  crowd.  As  Butch  went  up  the  several 
steps  leading  to  the  witness-box  he  stubbed  his  toe 
and  nearly  fell,  knocking  over  the  chair  provided 
for  the  witnesses  and  making  a  tremendous  clatter. 

The  crowd  tittered  audibly  at  the  awkwardness 
of  the  witness,  but  the  bailiff,  a  decrepit,  one-eyed 
fellow  in  a  faded  military  coat  bearing  a  Grand  Army 
button  in  the  lapel,  pounded  vigorously  on  the  clerk's 
desk  and  the  audience  subsided  into  a  quiet  grin. 

The  witness  having  been  duly  sworn,  Mr.  Sharpies 
proceeded  with  his  examination.  The  crowd  craned 
its  collective  neck  and  cocked  its  ears  attentively. 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"William  O'Connor,  sorr,"  mumbled  Butch. 

"Louder,  please!"  commanded  Sharpies.  "Speak 
up,  so  the  jury  can  hear  you.  What  is  your  name?" 

Butch  raised  his  eyes  and  caught  the  malevolent 
stare  and  sneering  smile  of  Boss  Hennessy.  He 
straightened  up  with  a  jerk,  scowled  back  at  Hen- 
nessy and  roared — 

"William  O'Connor,  sorr!" 


SHORT  SHEIFT  193 

"I  asked  you  to  speak  so  the  jury  could  hear  you, 
sir.  The  jury  is  just  at  your  right,  not  in  New  York 
City,  and  its  members  are  not  deaf,  Mr.  O'Connor," 
said  the  prosecutor. 

Several  in  the  audience  chuckled  delightedly,  but 
quickly  subsided  under  the  fierce  glare  of  the  bail- 
iff's lonely  eye. 

1 ' What  is  your  business,  Mr.  O'Connor?" 

"Oi'm  a  laborer,  sorr." 

''Where  were  you  last  employed?" 

"On  the  New  York  Cintral,  sorr,  at  A    ... 

"Were  you  at  A  ...  during  the  strike  on  the 
20th  of  July  last?" 

"Yis,  sorr,  Qi  was." 

"Were  you  in  the  employ  of  the  New  York  Cen- 
tral at  that  time?" 

"Yis,  sorr," 

*  *  Did  you  participate  in  the  strike  ? ' ' 

"Do  yez  mane  was  Oi  afther  strikin,'  sorr?" 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  mean." 

"Yis,  sorr.  Oi  sthruck  along  with  the  rist  of  the 
min." 

"Was  it  a  peaceful  strike?" 

"Paceful,  was  it?  Shure  an'  it  was  as  paceful 
as  a  dove." 

"Were  you  in  A  .  .  .  on  the  night  of  July  27th 
last?" 

"Yis,  sorr." 

"Were  the  men  still  on  strike?" 

"Yis,  sorr,  they  was." 

"Mr.  O'Connor,  kindly  state  whether  anything  un- 
usual occurred  that  night." 

"Faith,  an'  there  did  that,  sorr." 

"What  was  the  nature  of  it?" 

"D'ye  mane  pfwat  was  it  loike?" 


194  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Yes,  that's  exactly  what  I  mean." 

"It  was  wan  hell  of  a  fight,  sorr." 

The  bailiff  forestalled  any  expression  of  merriment 
on  the  part  of  the  audience  by  striking  the  desk  a 
resounding  whack. 

"Never  mind  the  emphasis,  Mr.  O'Connor,"  said 
the  prosecutor.  "Where  did  this  fight  occur?" 

"In  wan  of  the  bunk-houses,  sorr." 

"Very  good.  Now,  Mr.  O'Connor,  will  you  please 
tell  the  court,  and  in  your  own  way,  exactly  what 
occurred. ' ' 

"Well,  sorr,  Oi  was  afther  walkin'  down  the  road 
toward  the  bunk-house,  whin  Oi  heard  a  divil  of  a 
row  goin'  on  inside.  Oi  run  towards  the  shack  loike 
th*  ould  Nick  was  afther  me,  thinkin'  Oi'd  thry  to 
sthop  the  fightin'.  Just  as  Oi  was  goin'  into  the 
bunk-house,  the  Superintendent,  Misther  Parkyn, 
passes  by  me  an'  rushes  into  the  mix-up." 

"By  the  mix-up,  you  mean  the  fight,  I  presume, 
Mr.  O'Connor,"  interrupted  Mr.  Sharpies. 

"Yis,  sorr.  There  was  h 'about  a  dozen  o'  them 
blawsted  bloomin'  Dagoes  a  fightin'  like  bloody  'ell, 
an'—" 

Butch  caught  himself  just  in  time.  His  lapse  into 
his  native  dialect  was  not  observed  by  anyone  but 
Hennessy,  who  half  rose  from  his  seat  at  the  sound 
of  it,  and  by  Halloran  and  the  prisoner,  who  ex- 
changed meaning  glances.  The  State's  Attorney 
merely  noticed  Butch 's  hesitancy  and  looked  at  him 
curiously. 

Halloran  leaned  over  and  whispered  in  Hazelton's 
ear.  The  attorney  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  ig- 
nored the  foreman's  comment. 

'.'Go  on,  sir,"  resumed  Sharpies. 

"Well,  sorr,"  continued  the  witness,  regaining 


SHOET  SHRIFT  195 

his  equanimity,  "Oi  followed  afther  Misther  Par- 
kyn,  thinkin'  lie  was  afther  tryin'  ter  shtop  the  fight. 
The  first  thing  Oi  knowed,  iverybody  was  a-shootin' 
an*  stabbin'  loike  the  very  divil." 

"Did  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  Mr.  Parkyn,  have 
a  pistol?" 

"Y — yis,  sorr,"  replied  the  witness,  with  a  fine 
display  of  reluctance. 

"Did  the  prisoner  fire  his  pistol?" 

"Y — yis,  sorr." 

"Kindly  tell  what  happened." 

"Well,  ye  see,  it  was  loike  this,  sorr.  Wan  o'  the 
min  grabbed  hold  o'  Misther  Parkyn  an'  was  push- 
in'  him  across  the  flure,  when  all  of  a  sudden  the 
superintendent  takes  a  crack  at  him  wid  his  gun  an' 
drops  him  deader 'n  a  nit,  sorr." 

"What  was  the  name  of  the  man  whom  you  say 
the  superintendent  dropped?" 

Butch  mopped  his  forehead  with  a  not  too  recently 
laundered  handkerchief. 

"Begorra,  sorr,  thim  Guinea  names  is  too  hard  for 
me.  It  sounded  like  Jewelry  Maggots,  or  the  loikes 
o'  that." 

The  crowd  snickered  and  the  humorless  bailiff 
gave  a  smart  rap  with  his  gavel. 

"Was  the  murdered  man's  name  Giulio  Maggio- 
li?"  continued  the  prosecutor. 

"That's  it,  sorr,"  rejoined  Butch,  thankfully. 

"You  are  sure  that  it  was  the  prisoner  that  fired 
the  shot  that  killed  Giulio  Maggioli?" 

"Yis,  sorr." 

"Did  you  see  any  weapons  in  the  hands  of  the 
men  who  were  fighting,  before  the  prisoner  sprang 
upon  them?" 

"N— no,  sorr." 


196  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Were  you  armed,  Mr.  O'Connor?" 

' '  Divil  a  bit,  sorr.  Oi  'm  a  paceable  man,  an '  don 't 
loike  gun-fightin',  sorr." 

Hennessy  was  all  alive  at  this  point  and  tried  to 
catch  the  witness 's  eye.  Butch,  however,  was  decid- 
edly on  his  guard. 

"Did  you  see  any  weapon  of  any  kind  in  the  hand 
of  Giulio  Maggioli?" 

"No,  sorr." 

"Did  you  at  any  subsequent  time  see  the  body  of 
Giulio  Maggioli?" 

"  Yis,  sorr.  Oi  was  at  the  inquest  the  coroner  was 
af  ther  makin '  on  the  Guinea,  sorr. ' ' 

"You  may  take  the  witness,  Mr.  Hazelton,"  said 
the  State's  Attorney,  blandly. 

Hazelton  plainly  was  nonplussed.  He  could  see  no 
opening  anywhere  and  realized  that  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  give  a  cross-examination  which  would 
show  even  the  ear-marks  of  a  battle  in  the  interests  of 
his  client.  It  was  plain  that  anything  he  might  bring 
out  would  merely  serve  to  clinch  the  damning  evi- 
dence already  offered  by  the  prosecution  and  em- 
phasize the  hopelessness  of  Parkyn's  case.  This 
obviously  would  not  be  likely  to  enhance  Hazelton 's 
own  professional  reputation,  and  this  consideration 
was  paramount  in  the  attorney's  mind.  He  was 
about  to  dismiss  the  witness,  as  the  easiest  way  out 
of  the  predicament,  when  John  Halloran,  who  sat 
at  his  elbow,  whispered  a  suggestion  to  him. 

"Mr.  O'Connor,"  asked  Hazelton,  "did  you  hear 
any  shots  fired  before  Parkyn  and  yourself  entered 
the  bunk-house  ? ' ' 

"Divil  a  shot,  sorr." 

"You  are  sure  of  that?" 

"Yis,  sorr." 


SHORT  SHRIFT  197 

"That  will  do,  sir." 

There  was  an  expression  of  relief  on  Butch 's  coun- 
tenance as  he  came  down  from  the  witness  stand 
and  awkwardly  shambled  back  into  the  crowd.  Mr. 
Sharpies  smiled  significantly  at  the  jury,  who  looked 
as  bored  as  could  have  been  expected  of  men  com- 
pelled to  listen  to  evidence  which  was  mere  superero- 
gation. 

"Ye  cooked  that  Dago  all  right,  me  bucko,"  said 
the  Boss  to  himself  as  Butch  passed  him  on  his  way 
to  his  seat,  "but  we're  not  goin'  ter  chew  the  rag 

over  it.  Things  are  in  d d  good  shape,  an'  we'll 

let  it  go  at  that.  If  ye  ever  get  gay  an'  I  wanter 
put  the  screws  ter  ye,  it'll  be  a  pipe;"  and  he 
chuckled  to  himself  as  he  tapped  the  pocket  in  which 
lay  a  small,  battered  pellet  of  lead. 

"Dr.  Danford,"  called  the  prosecutor. 

The  county  physician  took  the  stand  and  was 
sworn,  after  which  the  usual  preliminaries  estab- 
lishing the  indentity,  occupation  and  official  position 
of  the  witness  were  gone  through  with. 

"Kindly  tell  the  court,  Doctor,  whether  on  the  28th 
of  July  last  you  made  an  autopsy  at  A  .  .  .on  the 
body  of  Giulio  Maggioli." 

"I  did." 

' '  State  what  you  found. ' ' 

"I  found  a  gun-shot  wound  in  the  left  side  of  the 
chest.  The  ball  had  passed  obliquely  through  the 
chest,  traversing  the  heart,  and  emerged  at  the  back 
of  the  right  chest,  where  it  lodged  just  beneath  the 
skin." 

"In  your  opinion,  Doctor,  was  the  gun-shot  wound 
you  have  described  the  cause  of  Giulio  Maggioli 's 
death." 

"It  was." 


198  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"What  was  the  immediate  cause  of  death?" 

"Shock  and  hemorrhage." 

"Produced  by  the  ball?" 

*  'Yes,  they  undoubtedly  were  produced  by  the  ball. ' ' 

"Did  you  remove  the  ball?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"It  it  still  in  your  possession?" 

"It  is." 

"Kindly  show  it  to  the  jury." 

Dr.  Danford  took  the  ball  from  his  pocket  and  re- 
moved the  paper  in  which  it  was  wrapped.  As  he 
did  so  his  face  paled,  and  his  hand  distinctly  trem- 
bled. When  the  bullet,  completely  divested  of  its 
wrappings,  finally  lay  in  his  hand,  he  gazed  at  it  in 
mute  astonishment.  The  missile  was  a  changeling — 
a. 38! 

"Is  the  ball  that  you  hold  in  your  hand  the  identi- 
cal one  that  you  removed  from  the  body  of  Giulio 
Maggioli?"  pursued  Sharpies. 

The  witness  gazed  uncertainly  toward  Boss  Hen- 
nessy,  who  returned  his  gaze  with  an  icily  indiffer- 
ent stare,  and  the  doctor,  as  usual,  took  the  course 
of  least  resistance — and  least  risk. 

"Yes,  sir,  the  very  same." 

"Has  the  ball  been  out  of  your  possession  at  any 
time  since  you  extracted  it  from  the  body  of  Giulio 
Maggioli?" 

"It  has  not." 

"What  is  the  caliber  of  the  ball,  Doctor?" 

"It  is  a. 38." 

The  prosecutor  picked  up  the  revolver  that  lay  on 
the  table  beside  him  and  handed  it  to  the  witness. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  that  pistol  before,  Doctor?" 

"I  have." 


SHORT  SHEIFT  199 

''When  and  where?" 

"At  the  coroner's  inquest  on  the  body  of  Giulio 
Maggioli  at  A  .  .  .on  the  28th  day  of  July  last. ' ' 

"Was  it  offered  in  evidence  at  the  inquest?" 

"Yes,  it  was  identified  as  the  gun  with  which  the 
prisoner  was  accused  of  killing  Maggioli." 

"In  your  opinion,  had  the  pistol  recently  been 
discharged?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"How  many  chambers?" 

"One,  sir." 

"Is  the  weapon  still  loaded?" 

"All  but  one  chamber." 

"Doctor,  please  state  the  caliber  of  the  pistol  you 
hold  in  your  hand. ' ' 

"It  is  a. 38." 

"Does  the  bullet  you  have  in  evidence  fit  the  re- 
volver you  are  holding?" 

The  doctor  inserted  the  ball  into  the  muzzle  of  the 
weapon. 

"It  does." 

"What  did  you  say  was  the  caliber  of  that  ball, 
Doctor?" 

"A  .38." 

"Kindly  hand  the  revolver  and  the  ball  to  the 
jury,  Mr.  Bailiff!"  said  the  prosecutor. 

The  bailiff  obeyed,  and  when  they  had  gone  the 
rounds  of  the  jurymen  the  exhibits  were  handed  to 
Mr.  Sharpies,  who  laid  them  in  plain  view  on  the 
table  at  which  he  was  standing. 

"Take  the  witness,  Mr.  Hazelton,"  said  the 
State's  Attorney,  urbanely,  again  glancing  signifi- 
cantly at  the  jury,  which,  having  become  sufficiently 
aroused  to  grasp  the  morbidly  sensational  testimony 


200  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

of  the  medical  witness  and  listlessly  examine  the 
revolver  and  bullet,  had  resumed  its  expression  of 
passivity. 

Mr.  Hazelton  made  a  few  inane  objections  during 
Dr.  Danford's  testimony,  which  promptly  were  over- 
ruled by  the  court,  and  he  would  have  been  glad  to 
let  matters  rest,  so  far  as  the  medical  testimony 
was  concerned.  He  felt,  however,  that  he  really 
must  give  his  client  a  semblance  of  a  run  for  his 
money  and  that  here  was  as  favorable  an  opportun- 
ity as  he  was  likely  to  get,  so  he  proceeded  to  cross- 
examine  the  witness  in  such  a  manner  that  if  a  single 
juror  had  been  inclined  to  believe  that  the  murdered 
man  had  died  of  heart  failure  from  excitement  and 
over-exertion,  his  mind  would  have  been  disabused 
of  the  notion  by  the  positiveness  with  which  Dr.  Dan- 
ford  reiterated  his  testimony. 

At  the  conclusion  of  Mr.  Hazelton 's  cross-exami- 
nation the  doctor,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  left  the  wit- 
ness stand,  nervously  wiping  his  brow  with  a  large 
silk  handkerchief.  He  immediately  left  the  court- 
room, excusing  to  himself  his  perjured  testimony  on 
the  ground  that  it  could  not  have  been  avoided, 
for  he  had  not  dared  to  acknowledge  that  the  ball 
ever  had  been  out  of  his  hands.  As  matters  stood, 
he  had  no  fear  of  consequences,  for  he  felt  quite 
positive  that,  inasmuch  as  Hennessy  was  in  a  po- 
sition as  delicate  as  his  own,  he  was  insured  against 
everything  but  his  own  conscience — and  that  was  not 
especially  acute. 

The  State 's  Attorney  now  called  on  the  constables 
and  the  various  citizens  of  A  ...  who  constitut- 
ed the  volunteer  posse  that  stopped  the  fight  among 
the  laborers  in  which  Giulio  Maggioli  was  killed, 
and  who  had  arrested  Parkyn.  Their  testimony  was 


SHORT  SHRIFT  201 

brief  and  to  the  point,  its  most  damning  feature  be- 
ing the  statement  made  by  each  of  them  that  Parkyn 
was  found  lying  on  the  floor  of  the  bunk-house  with 
a  revolver  in  his  hand. 

Each  witness  testified  that  the  revolver  apparent- 
ly had  been  recently  discharged,  one  chamber  only 
being  empty.  The  weapon  submitted  in  evidence 
was  identified  as  the  one  found  in  the  prisoner's 
possession  and  subsequently  shown  at  the  coroner's 
inquest. 

Just  why  Hennessy  should  have  been  called  to 
the  stand  was  not  clear  to  anybody  save  that  astute 
person  himself  and  the  State's  Attorney,  but  as  a 
human  interest  play  it  was  superb.  Under  the  adroit 
questioning  of  the  prosecutor,  the  Boss  made  clear 
to  the  jury  the  honest  and  industrious  character  of 
the  late  Maggioli,  and  his  own  tender  solicitude  for 
all  his  employes.  He  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of 
the  more  susceptible  persons  in  the  audience,  by 
his  allusions  to  the  imaginary  bereaved  family  of 
the  murdered  man.  As  to  the  accused,  he  knew  noth- 
ing, save  that  the  superintendent  apparently  never 
was  in  sympathy  with  the  men  under  him. 

Butch  listened  with  profound  admiration  to  his 
principal's  testimony. 

' '  Just  listen  ter  dat !  H '  ain  't  'e  de  smooth  guy  T ' ' 
muttered  the  thug  to  himself.  "  'E 's  a  daisy,  'e  is ! 
Me  h'only  h'aunt  Maria!  Wouldn't  that  cook  ye? 
'Is  bloomin'  wife  an'  bloody  kids!" 

It  was  significant  that  Mr.  Sharpies  did  not  call 
Halloran  to  the  stand.  The  State's  Attorney  evi- 
dently was  willing  to  rest  the  prosecution  at  this 
point. 

What  course  Hazelton  now  would  have  followed 
is  a  matter  of  conjecture.  Possibly  he  too,  would 


202  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

have  been  pleased  to  have  had  the  case  rest  here. 
Halloran,  however,  again  leaned  over  and  whispered 
to  him.  A  brief  and  sharp  whispered  discussion  fol- 
lowed, at  the  conclusion  of  which  the  attorney,  ap- 
parently much  against  his  will,  after  a  brief  confer- 
ence with  his  client  called  the  prisoner  to  the  stand. 

Parkyn  was  to  all  appearances  calm  and  self- 
possessed  through  it  all,  and  watched  the  court  pro- 
ceedings as  curiously  as  his  depressed  and  hopeless 
state  of  mind  permitted.  As  he  sized  up  the  aud- 
ience and  the  jury,  and  noted  the  pomposity  of  the 
judge,  he  would  have  laughed  aloud,  had  his  situa- 
tion been  less  precarious.  While  Butch  Harris  was 
giving  his  testimony  the  young  man  was  on  the 
verge  of  an  explosive  protest.  When  his  own  name 
was  called,  he  took  the  stand  with  a  feeling  of  re- 
lief— the  tension  had  become  almost  unbearable. 

After  the  customary  formalities  and  a  few  pre- 
liminary questions,  Mr.  Hazelton  went  in  detail  into 
the  incidents  of  the  night  of  the  murder. 

"Mr.  Parkyn,  where  were  you  when  the  distur- 
bance began  in  the  bunk-house?" 

' '  On  the  pier,  a  few  rods  away. ' ' 

"Did  you  hear  any  shots  fired?" 

"Yes,  I  heard  several  shots." 

"What  did  you  do  when  you  heard  the  noise  of  the 
fight  among  the  men?" 

"I  ran  as  quickly  as  I  could  to  the  scene  of  the 
disturbance. '  ' 

"For  what  purpose,  Mr.  Parkyn?" 

"To  stop  the  fight." 

"Were  you  alone?" 

"At  first  I  was  alone." 

"And  afterward?" 

"I  was  joined  by  a  laborer,  named  O'Connor." 


SHOET  SHRIFT  203 

*  *  The  same  0  'Connor  who  testified  a  few  moments 
ago?" 

"Yes,  the  same." 

"Did  you  have  a  weapon,  Mr.  Parkyn?" 

"In  my  pocket,  yes." 

"Did  you  at  any  time  draw  your  pistol?" 

"I  did." 

"For  what  reason!" 

"Practically  every  man  engaged  in  the  fight  had 
a  weapon  of  some  kind  in  his  hand.  I  instinctively 
drew  my  revolver,  hoping  to  intimidate  the  men  and 
induce  them  to  stop  fighting. ' ' 

"Did  you  fire  the  revolver?" 

"I  did  not." 

"Were  you  wounded  during  the  fight?" 

"I  was.    Somebody  stabbed  me  in  the  thigh." 

"Do  you  know  who  stabbed  you?" 

"I  do  not." 

Hazelton  hesitated  for  a  moment  and  Halloran 
motioned  to  him.  The  attorney  leaned  over  and 
Jack  muttered  a  suggestion. 

"Did  you  know  the  man  who  was  killed  in  the 
fight  that  evening?"  continued  the  lawyer. 

"I  did  not.  I  could  not  even  have  identified  him  as 
one  of  the  laborers  on  the  construction  job,  had  I 
seen  him  anywhere  away  from  the  work." 

"Did  you  see  him  fall?" 

"I  did  not." 

' '  Do  you  know  who  shot  him  ? ' ' 

"I  do  not." 

Halloran  again  whispered  to  Hazelton. 

"Were  you  in  the  habit  of  carrying  a  revolver?" 
continued  the  attorney. 

"I  was  not;  the  foreman  and  I  expected  trou- 
ble, and  Mr.  Halloran  suggested  that  I  carry  a  re- 


204  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

volver  and  supplied  me  with  the  weapon  I  had  in 
my  possession  that  evening. ' ' 

"That  will  do,  Mr.  Parkyn,"  said  Hazelton. 

The  State 's  Attorney  now  took  the  witness. 

"You  admit  that  you  had  a  revolver  at  the  time 
of  the  fight?" 

"I  do." 

"Is  this  the  revolver?" 

"I  could  not  say  positively,  but  it  was  one  like 
that." 

"You  state  that  you  did  not  fire  the  revolver?" 

"I  do." 

"Yet  the  evidence  plainly  shows  that  the  weapon 
was  discharged."  Sharpies  looked  meaningly  at 
the  jury.  "How  do  you  explain  that?"  he  went  on, 
maladroitly. 

"I  object,  your  honor!"  exclaimed  Hazelton. 

"Objection  sustained,"  said  the  Judge. 

"I  withdraw  the  objection,  your  honor,"  exclaimed 
counsel  for  the  defense,  hastily. 

"I  do  not  care  to  press  the  question,  your  honor," 
interposed  Sharpies,  realizing  his  own  blunder. 
"That  is  all,  Mr.  Parkyn." 

"Mr.  Parkyn,"  said  Hazelton,  "you  may  tell  the 
jury  just  how  your  weapon  came  to  be  discharged. ' ' 

"I  hardly  know.  It  was  a  double  action  and  I 
suppose  I  must  have  pulled  the  trigger  accidentally. 
My  arm  was  extended  above  my  head  in  the  strug- 
gle with  the  men  when  the  pistol  went  off.  The  ball 
must  have  gone  over  the  heads  of  everybody." 

The  State's  Attorney  turned  to  the  jury  and 
smiled  satirically.  The  jury  responded  with  a  look 
which  showed  that  they  were  heartily  in  sympathy 
with  Sharpies '  incredulity. 


SHORT  SHEIFT  205 

1  'That  is  all,"  said  the  attorney  for  the  defense, 
glancing  inquiringly  at  Mr.  Sharpies.  The  prose- 
cutor nodded  and  Parkyn  left  the  stand.  After  a 
moment's  quiet  consultation  with  Jack  Halloran, 
Mr.  Hazelton  called  him  to  the  stand. 

Halloran  verified  in  every  particular  the  testi- 
mony of  the  accused,  as  to  the  circumstances  under 
which  he  became  possessed  of  the  revolver.  Hal- 
loran testified  also  that  he  heard  the  superintendent 
calling  for  his  assistance  at  the  time  the  latter  rushed 
into  the  shack  to  stop  the  fight.  He  further  testi- 
fied to  finding  several  men  lying  wounded  upon  the 
floor  of  the  bunk-house,  Parkyn  being  among  them, 
and  also  to  finding  the  body  of  Giuliq  Maggioli. 

The  prosecutor  did  not  cross-examine,  but  con- 
tented himself  with  another  suggestive  sneer  direct- 
ed at  the  jury,  which  sneer  was  quite  as  effective  as 
he  meant  it  to  be,  if  the  significant  glances  ex- 
changed by  the  jurymen  counted  for  anything. 

Already  ineffably  bored,  the  jury,  to  a  man,  wore 
an  expression  of  martyrdom  during  the  speeches  of 
the  opposing  attorneys.  As  the  prosecuting  attor- 
ney made  his  most  telling  points,  the  jurymen  ex- 
changed looks  which  plainly  showed  that  they  re- 
garded his  address  as  merely  a  conscientious  attempt 
to  give  the  state  good  measure.  As  for  Hazelton 's 
speech,  the  jury  would  have  gone  to  sleep  during 
its  delivery,  had  its  members  not  been  so  impressed 
with  the  sense  of  their  own  importance  and  a  desire 
to  convince  the  audience  that  they  were  a  little  the 
wisest  aggregation  of  public- spirited  citizens  that 
B  .  .  .  ever  had  seen. 

It  was  not  without  difficulty,  however,  that  some  of 


206  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

the  jurymen  were  able  to  preserve  their  official  grav- 
ity. These  gentlemen  kept  awake,  but  sat  blinking 
like  so  many  owls  facing  the  sunlight,  aggressively 
pointing  their  be-whiskered  chins  at  Hazelton,  as  if 
defying  his  eloquence.  His  arguments,  if  so  they 
might  be  charitably  termed,  were  ignored  altogether. 
Throughout  both  the  speeches  Mr.  Chase 's  rubicund 
countenance  resembled  a  Jack  0'  Lantern  with  the 
light  out. 

Sharpies  first  ironically  and  cleverly  apologized 
to  the  jury  for  reviewing  the  obvious  before  a  body 
of  such  intelligent  gentlemen.  This  shot  evidently 
went  home,  with  telling  effect.  The  prosecutor  made 
no  effort  at  oratorical  display,  yet  his  denunciation 
of  the  prisoner  was  scathing  and  savage  enough  to 
please  the  most  vindictive  individual  in  the  court- 
room. His  resume  of  the  evidence  was  brief,  clear- 
cut  and  practically  unassailable. 

Mr.  Sharpies  made  a  special  point  of  the  heinous- 
ness  of  the  murder  of  a  poor,  hard-working  laborer, 
by  a  man  of  education  and  presumed  refinement. 
Only  once  was  he  in  the  least  dramatic,  and  that 
was  when  he  displayed  the  revolver  and  the  fatal 
bullet  to  the  jury. 

During  the  entire  address  the  State's  Attorney's 
face  wore  the  triumphant  expression  of  one  who  is 
certain  of  winning  his  cause.  He  concluded  by  sav- 
agely demanding  that  the  death  penalty  be  inflicted 
on  the  prisoner. 

If  sophomoric  oratory  had  been  argument,  Hazel- 
ton's  speech  might  have  been  considered  a  most  ef- 
fective one.  Under  the  circumstances,  however,  he 
merely  succeeded  in  giving  entertainment  to  the 
crowd  in  the  courtroom.  It  must  be  admitted  that 
the  attorney  made  the  best  of  a  bad  situation — he 


SHOET  SHRIFT  207 

could  safely  do  this — but  the  dullest  person  in  the 
audience  should  have  been  as  thoroughly  convinced 
as  was  he  himself  of  the  hopelessness  of  his  cause. 

He  dwelt  at  length  upon  the  lack  of  motive  on  the 
prisoner's  part,  and  made  a  special  point  of  the  evi- 
dence that  Parkyn  was  not  in  the  habit  of  carrying 
a  weapon.  He  also  directed  the  attention  of  the 
jury  to  the  fact  that,  in  endeavoring  to  stop  the  fight 
on  the  evening  of  the  murder,  his  client  merely  tried 
to  do  his  obvious  duty.  He  then  enlarged  upon  the 
unreliability  of  the  evidence  of  men  who  themselves 
were  in  a  condition  of  mental  excitement  at  the  time 
the  murder  was  committed. 

In  brief,  the  points  made  by  the  attorney  for  the 
defense  were  obvious,  and  only  such  as  would  have 
suggested  themselves  to  the  merest  tyro  in  the  law, 
and  impressed  the  jury  not  at  all.  The  nearest  ap- 
proach to  a  semblance  of  interest  in  the  attorney's 
sophomoric  oratory  on  the  part  of  the  jury,  was  a 
half-suppressed  yawn  from  an  occasional  juryman 
who  was  sufficiently  wide  awake  to  be  still  impres- 
sionable. 

As  Hazelton  concluded  his  speech  with  an  impas- 
sioned appeal  for  the  acquittal  of  his  client,  the  en- 
tire jury  roused  itself  into  an  amusedly  tolerant 
appreciation  of  what  it  evidently  regarded  as  a  hu- 
morous effort  on  the  attorney's  part,  rather  than  a 
serious  attempt  to  save  his  client's  life  or  liberty. 

Against  such  an  array  of  direct  and  convincing 
testimony  as  had  been  submitted  by  the  prosecution, 
and  with  such  a  jury,  the  most  enthusiastic  and 
skillful  lawyer  in  the  world  would  have  played  a 
losing  game.  With  a  man  like  Hazelton,  who  was 
chiefly  mindful  of  his  own  and  not  his  client's  in- 
terests, the  result  was  not  for  a  moment  in  doubt. 


208  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Hennessy  chuckled  softly  to  himself  as  he  listened 
to  the  flamboyant  address  of  the  attorney  for  the 
defense.  It  was  evident  to  the  wily  Boss  that  while 
his  adroitness  in  handling  the  county  physician  had 
been  fruitful  in  results,  his  visit  to  Hazelton  was 
time  wasted. 

Judge  Wilson's  instructions  to  the  jury  were  very 
brief,  and  comprised  merely  an  interpretation  of  the 
rules  of  evidence  in  the  case  and  a  statement  of  the 
various  degrees  of  murder  as  denned  by  the  statutes 
of  the  State  of  New  York.  He  concluded  with  the 
usual  admonition  to  render  a  verdict  in  strict  ac- 
cordance with  the  law  and  the  evidence. 

As  the  jury  filed  out  it  was  evident  to  everybody 
in  the  courtroom  that  its  deliberations  would  be 
merely  a  concession  to  legal  formality  on  the  part 
of  men  whose  minds  already  were  unalterably  made 
up. 

During  the  speeches,  Parkyn  and  Halloran  were 
more  than  ever  impressed  with  the  mockery  of  the 
entire  proceedings.  The  faces  of  both  men  showed 
that  they  knew  the  situation  was  hopeless. 

Neither  the  prisoner  nor  his  only  friend  looked 
at  each  other  as  the  jury  retired,  but  Halloran 
glared  in  Butch  Harris'  direction  in  a  hostile  fash- 
ion which  suggested  that  the  sturdy  foreman  would 
enjoy  treating  that  worthy  to  a  vigorous  man-hand- 
ling. 

After  unanimously  electing  Hiram  Chase  foreman, 
the  jury  occupied  itself  very  briefly  with  the  merits 
of  the  case.  The  evidence  against  Parkyn  was  so 
damningly  convincing  that  the  jury  consumed  very 
little  time  in  its  recapitulation.  The  only  issue  re- 
quiring discussion  was  the  degree  of  murder  and  the 


SHORT  SHEIFT  209 

penalty  therefor.  Even  here  the  instructions  of  the 
judge  left  little  room  for  discussion,  although  sever- 
al of  the  jury  showed  a  blood-thirsty  desire  to  convict 
the  prisoner  of  murder  in  the  first  degree,  and  rush 
him  to  the  gallows  or  to  life  imprisonment.  These 
gentlemen,  however,  soon  yielded  to  the  arguments  of 
their  fellow  jurymen  and  within  thirty  minutes  the 
jury  had  arrived  at  a  verdict,  returned  to  the  court- 
room and  solemnly  filed  into  the  box. 

"Gentlemen,"  asked  the  judge,  "have  you  arrived 
at  a  verdict?" 

"We  have,  your  honor,"  answered  the  foreman. 

"What  is  your  verdict?" 

"We,  the  jury,  find  the  prisoner  guilty  of  murder 
in  the  second  degree  and  recommend  imprisonment 
for  a  term  of  twenty  years,  as  provided  by  law. ' ' 

"Mr.  Clerk,"  said  the  judge,  "you  will  please  poll 
the  jury." 

Each  juryman  having  stated  his  agreement  with 
the  verdict  as  stated  by  the  foreman,  the  court  for- 
mally pronounced  sentence. 

Judge  Wilson  himself  was  not  unmindful  of  the 
opportunity  afforded  him  to  make  a  play  to  the 
gallery,  and  was  more  than  impressive  in  his  re- 
marks in  passing  sentence  upon  Parkyn.  He  was 
careful  that  the  audience  should  not  overlook  his 
breadth,  fairness  and  humaneness  of  spirit. 

The  judge's  remarks  were  so  much  in  harmony 
with  the  expressions  of  the  Reverend  Dr.  Perkins 
and  the  editorial  utterances  of  The  Clarion,  that 
the  audience  could  not  fail  to  appreciate  the  salient 
points  of  his  speech  as  agreeing  with  public  opinion. 

"Robert  Parkyn,"  concluded  the  judge,  "you  will 
please  stand. ' '  The  prisoner  wearily  rose  to  his  feet. 

"You  have  been  duly  tried  and  found  guilty  of 


210  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

the  murder  of  Giulio  Maggioli,  as  set  forth  in 
the  indictment.  The  sentence  of  the  court  is  that 
you  be  confined  in  the  State  Penitentiary  at  Sing 
Sing,  for  a  term  of  twenty  years.  The  court 
recommends  to  you  such  behavior  while  in  prison, 
as  will  secure  for  you  the  advantages  which  the 
law  has  so  beneficently  provided  for  good  conduct 
on  the  part  of  those  undergoing  punishment  for 
anti-social  acts." 

The  crowd  slowly  left  the  courtroom  and  dis- 
persed with  that  feeling  of  tranquil  security  which 
every  good  citizen  should  experience  when  the  law 
has  been  vindicated  and  society  has  avenged  itself 
upon  one  of  its  erring  integers. 

Parkyn  and  his  friend  Halloran  were  the  only  in- 
dividuals in  the  courtroom  who  were  not  thoroughly 
satisfied  with  the  outcome  of  the  trial. 


BOOK  II 


CHAPTEB  XIII 

THE  *TEW  DEAL 

Towards  the  commencement  of  the  last  quarter  of 
that  period  of  boasted  progress,  the  nineteenth 
century,  a  glimmer  of  intelligence  in  the  study  of 
criminology  and  the  management  of  crime  began 
to  permeate  the  dense  brain  of  that  most  excellent 
and  stupid  creature,  Society — which  is  so  fond  of 
devouring  its  own  children. 

The  Italian  school  of  criminologists  was  yet  to 
come,  but  there  already  were  a  few  devoted  spirits  in 
whose  veins  the  milk  of  human  kindness  flowed  and 
whose  warm  hearts  were  more  interested  in  the 
great  brotherhood  of  man — in  the  here  and  now — 
than  in  the  glimmering  halos  and  twanging  harps 
of  a  mythical  and  mystical  future.  These  devoted 
ones  were  beginning  to  blaze  a  path  to  a  condition 
on  earth  in  which  things  should  be  done  as  it  is 
promised  they  shall  be  done  in  heaven. 

These  strong  men  and  women — born  half  a  century 
before  their  time  and  therefore  out  of  tune  with 
the  social  orchestra — were  endeavoring  to  place  the 
responsibility  of  crime  where  it  obviously  belonged, 
at  the  door  of  Society  itself.  Society  then,  as  now, 
allowed  its  degenerates  to  marry  and  reproduce 
their  kind.  It  neglected  both  the  mothers  of  the 
land  and  their  children.  It  promised  these  children 
nothing  for  good  behavior,  but  most  condign  pun- 
ishment for  any  crimes  they  might  one  day  commit 


214  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

as  a  consequence  of  Society's  own  negligence.  They 
were  told  that  there  were  millions  for  punishment, 
but  not  one  dollar  to  prevent  young  brands  from 
getting  into  the  burning.  They  never  were  assisted 
in  being  well-born  or  in  remaining  or  becoming 


'he  State  ever  has  been  a  bad  parent  for  our 
"citizens  in  the  making"  and  is  itself  criminally  cul- 
pable for  the  downfall  of  most  of  those  who  stumble 
and  fall  by  the  wayside.  It  merely  suspends  the 
Damocles-like  sword  of  punishment  over  the  potenti- 
al criminal's  head,  as  a  warning  of  what  is  in  store 
for  him  if  he  goes  wrong — and  considers  its  duty 
done. 

For  some  months,  Sing  Sing  prison  had  been  hav- 
ing troubles  that  were  new  and  strange — troubles 
which  astonished  even  the  old-timers  who  were  hold- 
ing down  jobs  in  the  institution.  A  new  warden 
had  been  appointed  who,  as  the  stand-patters  ex- 
pressed it,  at  once  had  proceeded  to  "  raise  partic- 
ular hell"  with  penal  orthodoxy. 

The  before  mentioned  "old-timers"  were  slow  in 
comprehending  what  had  struck  them,  and  when  the 
light  finally  dawned  upon  their  minds,  comprehen- 
sion came  with  a  distinct  and  severe  shock.  They 
"sat  up  and  took  notice"  as  did  friend  Nye  in 
the  Heathen  Chinee.  Like  that  ingenuous  person, 
when  he  found  that  Ah  Sin  was  cheating  him  "in 
the  game  he  did  not  understand, ' '  the  under-officials 
of  the  prison  saw  ruin  staring  them  in  the  face,  but 
unlike  William  they  exhibited  much  discretion  and 
"went"  not  for  the  disturber  of  their  dreams. 

Clever  wardens  and  stupid  wardens  they  often 


THE  NEW  DEAL  215 

before  had  met;  wardens  had  come  and  gone,  for 
cause  or  without  it ;  among  them  had  been  both  brut- 
al wardens  and  kind  wardens,  but  a  warden  with 
new  ideas — and  such  ideas ! — they  never  before  had 
seen. 

This  phenomenal  new  warden,  Major  Donaldson, 
believed  that  the  criminal  should  be  regarded  as  a 
human  being,  even  though  the  poor  devil  had  no 
political  pull.  He  did  not  believe  in  inhuman  treat- 
ment, nor  in  severe  or  brutal  punishment  for  infrac- 
tions of  discipline.  Still  less  did  he  believe  in  filth, 
bad  air  and  deprivation  of  sunlight  as  means  of 
moral  betterment  for  convicts. 

The  new  prison  head  actually  had  the  effrontery 
to  claim  that,  to  make  a  man  better  morally  and 
mentally,  he  should  be  improved  physically,  and  even 
had  been  heard  to  assert  that  prisons  were  colleges 
of  crime,  where  the  herding  of  young  offenders  with 
hardened  criminals  resulted  in  complete  demorali- 
zation of  many  who  might  have  been  saved. 

"This,"  said  he,  indignantly,  was  " worse  than 
sending  children  with  measles  to  a  smallpox  hos- 
pital for  treatment. ' ' 

Then  there  was  his  milk-and-water  idea  that  mis- 
fortune and  social  stress  played  a  more  important 
role  than  natural  sin  in  keeping  up  the  census  of 
prisons!  "Unheard  of  and  preposterous,  a  bomb 
aimed  at  the  very  foundations  of  society!" 

And  his  theory  that  guards  and  under-wardens 
should  be  gentlemanly!  "Monstrous! — as  if  gentil- 
ity and  cpnsiderateness  on  the  part  of  prison  offic- 
ials possibly  could  make  for  the  betterment  of  a 
low-down  criminal ! ' ' 

The  new  warden  also  had  the  queer  notion  that 


216  TKUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

a  prison  should  be  run  on  the  lines  of  military  dis- 
cipline and  etiquette— and  especially  etiquette! 

Another  idea  of  his,  not  so  wishy-washy,  was  so 
abhorrent  to  ears  polite  that  it  must  not  be  openly 
mentioned.  He  actually  entertained  the  "  barbar- 
ous ' '  notion  that  confirmed  criminals  should  be  ster- 
ilized for  the  protection  of  generations  yet  unborn, 
and  that  the  State  should  regulate  marriage ! 

Finally — and  this  so  shocked  the  orthodox  old- 
time  penologists  that  they  are  not  yet  done  gasping 
— he  was  opposed  to  capital  punishment! 

The  worst  blow  ever  experienced  by  the  Tammany 
bosses  who  had  secured  his  appointment,  was  when 
their  eyes  were  opened  to  their  mistake  by  the  pub- 
lication in  the  daily  press  of  one  of  the  new  warden's 
"fool  speeches"  at  a  certain  scientific  conference. 
Here  are  some  of  the  awful  heresies  he  perpetrat- 
ed: 

"The  theory  of  punishment,  like  most  archaic 
social  theories,  always  has  been  very  popular  with 
the  man  in  the  street,  while  the  corrupt  governing 
political  powers  have  used  it  for  their  own  male- 
volent purposes  of  revenge,  political  skulduggery 
and  graft — thus  selfishly  utilizing  the  popular  fal- 
lacy that  the  Mosaic  Law  is  the  best  means  of  social 
self-defense. 

"To  make  men  better  never  has  been  the  aim  or 
method  of  our  penal  system.  To  punish — ah !  there 's 
the  specific  for  crime!  Take  the  victim  of  Society's 
own  stupidity — poor  atom  of  our  social  dregs — 
try  him,  convict  him,  take  him  to  the  'pen,'  shave 
his  head,  clothe  him  in  stripes,  teach  him  the  lock- 
step  and  house  him  with  a  fellow-prisoner  in  a 
cell,  the  cubic  air  capacity  of  which  is  not  one-fifth 
of  that  required  for  human  health,  and  how  can  he 


THE  NEW  DEAL  217 

help  coming  out  of  prison  a  worse  citizen  than  be- 
fore? 

"Architectural  genius  for  doing  the  wrong  thing, 
combined  with  social  imbecility,  is  most  fertile  in 
diabolic  invention.  Builders  of  prisons  apparently 
always  have  taken  special  pains  to  protect  the  con- 
vict from  the  awful  effects  of  fresh  air  and  sunshine, 
by  putting  the  cell  houses  as  far  away  from  the  out- 
side world  as  possible.  Should  any  man  treat  a 
domestic  animal  with  the  same  brutality  and  be 
caught  at  it,  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruel- 
ty to  Animals  would  arrest  him  forthwith,  and  the 
press  would  crucify  him  at  the  bar  of  public  opinion. 

"Exaggeration?  Let  those  who  believe  that  the 
lower  animals  are  worse  treated  than  our  criminals, 
visit  almost  any  of  our  prisons,  and  let  him  not  lis- 
ten, but  look. 

"The  man  who  enters  the  gaol  to  be  punished  by 
a  long  term  of  imprisonment  comes  out  a  moral, 
spiritual  and  physical  wreck,  with  the  brand  of  the 
social  pariah  upon  him  and  the  prison  pallor 
stamped  on  his  face — and  often  with  no  recourse 
save  to  break  back  into  jail. 

"When,  not  long  ago,  a  returned  traveler  pointed 
an  accusing  finger  at  Russian  kameras — the  prisons 
in  which  exiles  and  criminals  are  housed,  en  route  to 
Siberia,  with  their  buckets  of  filth  and  myriads  of 
vermin — a  philanthropist  investigator  described  a 
part  of  'darkest  America,'  the  convict  camps  of  the 
south,  and  showed  that  the  same  conditions  prevailed 
there,  save  only  that  pur  more  discreet  southrons 
attach  a  ball  and  chain  to  the  convict's  leg — and 
the  more  humane  Russians  did  not. 

"Once  the  doors  of  a  State's  prison  have  closed 
upon  a  man,  his  individuality  is  lost  and  he  becomes 


218  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

a  thing — a  thing  still  animate,  but  colorless  and 
and  dead.  He  is  no  longer  a  man,  but  a  near-living 
number. 

1  'We  might  reform  the  man,  but  can  we  revive  old 
ideals,  or  inspire  new  ones  in  the  breast  of  a  mere 
number? 

"How  easy  it  is  to  transform  a  man  into  a  number, 
when  once  we  get  him  within  prison  walls,  but  how 
difficult  to  re-transform  that  number  into  a  man 
when  liberty  comes! 

"Society  never  will  wake  up  until  it  finds  that  it 
costs  more  to  punish  criminals  and  farm  out  convict 
labor  than  it  does  to  prevent  crime.  Present  day 
police  systems,  graft  and  punishment  are  anachro- 
nisms and  social  monstrosities. 

"This  is  no  disclaimer  of  human  responsibility,  but 
placing  responsibility  where  it  properly  belongs, 
not  on  the  shoulders  of  the  individual  but  on  those 
of  Society." 

To  the  criticism  that  he  was  advocating  a  crime 
"free  for  all,"  the  Major  replied: 

"We  cannot  change  the  nature  of  a  vicious  dog 
by  chain  or  collar  or  by  beating.  By  the  chain  we 
merely  keep  him  in  hand  and  thereby  protect  our- 
selves from  harm  while  humanely  doing  our  best 
to  improve  him.  If  we  fail,  he  should  be  permanent- 
ly segregated,  granting  that  there  is  any  value  in 
him.  If  not,  he  should  be  eliminated,  just  as  a  dog 
should  be  at  once  eliminated.  These  things  should 
be  done,  not  for  social  revenge,  but  for  social  pro- 
tection. The  theory  of  elimination,  or  even  of  seg- 
regation of  criminals,  is  not  the  same  as  that  of 
punishment.  It  merely  implies  social  self-defense. 
Then,  too,  we  always  can  breed  better  dogs;  why 
not  better  men?" 


THE  NEW  DEAL  219 

Small  wonder  that  Tammany  gasped  with  dismay. 

The  blow  the  Major  gave  to  the  traditions 
of  Sing  Sing  was  the  greater  because  of  the  fact  that 
the  political  appointees  of  the  institution  were  sev- 
eral shades  tougher  than  the  criminals  whom  it  was 
their  duty  to  guard  and  oversee. 

The  only  balm  that  the  new  warden's  official  fam- 
ily could  find  in  Gilead  was  the  conviction  that  he 
could  not  long  hold  his  job.  Meanwhile  they  would 
have  to  endure  him  as  best  they  might,  as  a  mild 
sort  of  lunatic  who  was  sure  to  "get  his,"  sooner  or 
later. 

To  the  political  and  commercial  "powers  that 
prey,"  the  most  paralyzing  discovery  was  that  the 
new  official  was  not  "out  for  the  coin,"  and,  more- 
over, was  dangerous  to  approach.  Nothing  could 
be  "kissed  through"  the  warden's  office.  He  would 
neither  graft  nor  be  grafted,  and  that  was  all  there 
was  to  it. 

It  requires  little  perspicacity  to  understand  that 
Major  Donaldson  was  soon  persona  non  grata  with 
Tammany.  This,  when  freely  translated  into  the  re- 
cherche language  of  gangland,  means  that  the  old 
soldier  was  "in  Dutch  wit  de  bosses." 

It  was  only  a  question  of  time  when  the  bosses 
would  "get"  the  major — and  "get  him  good" — but 
they  were  discreet,  there  must  be  a  "reason" — and 
no  indecent  haste. 

How  Major  Donaldson  ever  "got  by"  and  secured 
the  appointment  of  warden  at  Sing  Sing  never  has 
ceased  to  be  a  puzzle  to  the  wise  ones.  It  was  a 
nine  days'  wonder,  and  was  talked  of  for  years 
after  the  grass  had  grown  green  over  the  dear  old 
man's  grave. 

The  people  up-state  had  grown  a  bit  tired   of 


220  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Tammany  domination,  and  had  resolved  to  show  the 
folks  on  Manhattan  Island  that  the  State  of  New 
York  extended  some  miles  further  north  than  Spuy- 
ten  Devil  Creek  and  was  not  bounded  on  the  west 
by  the  Hudson,  nor  on  the  east  by  the  East  River. 
They  were  "goin'  to  show  'em,  you  betcha!" 

Around  every  "spit-box"  in  every  little  country 
grocery  store  and  postoffice,  gathered  the  reaction- 
aries, bent  on  saving  the  state.  Political  opinions 
punctuated  with  liberal  mouthfuls  of  tobacco  juice 
were  fired  in  volleys — with  rarely  a  miss — and  the 
partisans  invariably  voted  the  way  they  spat. 

Among  the  patriotic  members  of  the  ' 'round- the- 
spit-box  clubs"  throughout  the  state,  were  hund- 
reds of  old  soldiers,  men  who  had  saved  the  country 
— for  the  Republican  party  at  least.  These  men  vot- 
ed as  formerly  they  shot — for  principle — and  also 
spat  as  they  meant  to  vote. 

The  putrescent  odor  of  the  Boss  Tweed-Tammany- 
Ring  scandal  still  was  in  the  air  and  would  not  down, 
but  remained  a  stench  in  the  nostrils  of  decency — and 
the  old  soldier  always  has  had  a  very  sensitive  smel- 
ling apparatus. 

Tammany  had  neglected  the  "old  soldier  in  poli- 
tics;" he  was  getting  "peeved,"  and  it  was  a  bad 
time  for  such  a  peeve  to  develop. 

The  New  York  Democratic  leaders  were  corrupt 
and  venal,  and  obstinate  as  the  traditional  mule,  but 
were  not  quite  fools ;  they  were  wise  enough  to  try 
to  placate  the  old  soldiers  of  the  Empire  State. 
This  probably  had  more  to  do  with  the  Major's 
appointment  than  had  anything  else. 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  while  Tammany 
made  a  great  mistake  in  securing  the  appointment 


THE  NEW  DEAL  221 

of  Ma^'or  Donaldson,  the  mistake  was  natural  enough. 
The  civil  service  political  bogey-man  had  not  yet  ap- 
peared on  the  horizon  to  disturb  the  grafter's 
dreams.  Nobody  ever  was  examined  to  see  what 
his  qualifications  were — and  never  would  be  ex- 
amined, if  Tammany  could  help  it.  The  game  al- 
ways was  a  two-edged  sword  and  cut  both  ways.  Then, 
too  how  was  Tammany  to  know  that  the  Major  had 
freak  ideas,  and  was  the  soul  of  honor?  And  be- 
sides, he  was  a  Democrat  and  should  be  safe. 

Once  the  Major  was  appointed,  Tammany  could 
do  nothing  but  sit  down  and  await  developments, 
confident  that  if  he  made  any  "bad  break"  his  case 
could  be  attended  to  "right." 

Major  Donaldson  was  comfortably  well  off  and 
had  numerous  hobbies.  Indeed  some  of  his  familiar 
critics  had  dubbed  him  "Bachelor  of  Hobbies," 
which  appellation  he  accepted  with  his  proverbial 
good  humor  and  sense  of  the  eternal  fitness  of 
things.  Even  without  systematic  occupation,  his 
humane  interests  would  have  prevented  him  from 
stagnating,  hence  he  really  did  not  need  office  of 
any  kind.  His  application  for  the  position  of  war- 
den at  Sing  Sing  was  made  with  the  view  of  working 
out  and  perfecting  some  of  his  pet  social-uplift  the- 
ories. He  was  minded  to  write  a  book  sometime, 
and  knew  that  Sing  Sing  was  a  veritable  gold  mine 
for  the  development  of  the  kind  of  experience  and 
data  he  was  seeking. 

Eumor  had  it  that  the  position  of  Warden  at 
Sing  Sing  was  one  of  the  most  profitable  within 
the  gift  of  New  York  politics.  The  bank  accounts 
of  some  of  the  gentlemen  who  at  various  times  had 
held  the  office  showed  that  the  job  was  a  "gold 


222  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

mine,"  almost  in  the  literal  sense.  "Playing  fav- 
orites" always  has  afforded  fat  picking  in  penal 
institutions. 

Needless  to  say,  the  new  warden  did  not  take  into 
his  full  confidence  either  Tammany  or  any  other 
political  powers  that  be,  when  he  applied  for  the 
position.  He  was  a  pretty  wise  old  fellow  in  many 
ways — even  wise  enough  to  wonder  how  long  he 
could  hold  the  job  if  he  ever  succeeded  in  getting  it. 

Major  Donaldson  was  a  striking  figure.  Tall, 
erect,  soldierly  in  bearing  and  with  a  past-middle- 
aged  accumulation  of  flesh  which  was  just  sufficient 
to  give  a  corporeal  backing  to  his  dignified  carriage, 
he  was  indeed  imposing.  His  iron  grey  hair,  health- 
ily florid  complexion,  long,  heavy,  military  mous- 
tache, keen  blue  eyes  and  Roman  nose  that  reminded 
one  of  the  beak  of  an  eagle,  suggested  a  picture  of 
one  of  the  Little  Corporal's  grenadiers  of  the  guard, 
who  had  stepped  out  of  his  moldy  frame  into  an- 
other epoch. 

And  spirit!  It  required  but  a  glance  at  the  old 
soldier  to  comprehend  that  behind  and  beneath  all 
was  that  indomitable  courage  which,  since  the  world 
began,  has  made  for  liberty,  human  rights  and 
progress. 

But  there  was  one  quality  which  the  Major 's  mar- 
tial appearance  and  brusque  manner  quite  concealed. 
He  carried  in  his  bosom  a  heart  overflowing  with 
humane  impulses  and  desire  for  the  betterment  of 
the  under-dog  in  general,  which  the  casual  observer 
never  would  suspect.  This  quality  was  discoverable 
only  by  seeing  him  in  action,  fighting  the  battle  of 
the  down-trodden  brother  who  had  been  crushed  or 
cast  aside  by  the  social  juggernaut.  Verily,  one  could 
know  the  Major  only  by  his  works. 


THE  NEW  DEAL  223 

Reverting  to  his  courage,  the  quality  which  men 
most  admire  in  men,  it  had  brought  to  Major  Don- 
aldson effulgent  and  well-earned  glory  at  Gettys- 
burg, Shiloh  and  elsewhere,  but  at  Sing  Sing ! — 

McCabe,  the  chief  deputy-warden,  a  grizzled, 
gnarly,  bluff  old-timer,  was  one  of  the  few  officials 
of  the  prison  who  did  not  dislike  the  new  chief.  He 
really  held  the  warden  in  high  esteem — although 
grumbling  at  his  "batty"  ideas — and  was  willing  to 
rest  content  with  the  harmless-though-demoralizing- 
lunacy  theory  of  the  old  Major's  peculiar  views  of 
penal  administration  and  the  management  of  crim- 
inals. Even  the  chief  deputy,  however,  failed  to  ap- 
preciate the  peculiar  quality  of  courage  exhibited 
by  his  chief  in  his  line  of  duty  at  Sing  Sing. 

When  McCabe  discovered  that  Major  Donaldson 
never  carried  a  weapon  he  almost  threw  a  fit.  He 
relieved  his  mind  at  the  earliest  opportunity  by  an- 
nouncing his  remarkable  discovery  to  the  other  dep- 
uties and  guards. 

"Say,  boys,"  he  exclaimed,  excitedly,  "d'ye  know 
that  the  old  man  don't  pack  a  rod?" 

"The  hell  he  don't!"  shouted  several  of  the  offi- 
cers. "What  the  devil  does  he  carry,  then?" 

"Not  a  blasted  thing,  so  help  me  God!"  asserted 
McCabe,  earnestly.  "He  ain't  got  a  thing  in  his 
clothes  bigger 'n  a  pen-knife,  an'  that  ain't  big 
enough  to  even  manicure  one  o'  them  lovely  birds 
of  ours." 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned!"  yelled  everybody  in  cho- 
rus. * '  What  d  'ye  know  about  that  ? ' ' 

"An'  the  old  duffer's  puttin'  murderers  on  for 
trusties ! ' '  exploded  a  guard  named  Gleason,  deris- 
ively. He  says  that  most  of  'em  is  safer  to  trust 
than  ordinary  crooks.  He'll  need  a  gatt  one  o'  these 


224  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

fine  days,"  growled  the  guard,  "an*  he'll  need  it 
damned  bad,  and, ' '  he  went  on  in  a  lower  tone,  look- 
ing around  cautiously  to  see  if  he  was  likely  to  be 
overheard  by  persons  not  in  his  confidence,  "we'll 
need  a  new  warden,  I  hope. ' ' 

"Huh!  You'd  oughter  like  the  Major,  Gleason," 
retorted  McCabe,  sarcastically.  "If  he  carried  a 
gun,  you  might  have  reason  to  be  jealous.  He  might 
go  after  yer  score  an '  beat  ye  to  it. ' ' 

In  the  general  and  somewhat  envious  laugh  excited 
by  McCabe 's  satirical  allusion  to  Gleason 's  brutal  ex- 
pertness  in  gun-play,  the  new  warden's  peculiarity 
temporarily  was  forgotten. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HELL  ON  THE  HUDSON 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  more  fortunate  citizens 
of  the  great  commonwealth  of  New  York  will  not  be 
offended  by  the  nomenclature  applied  to  the  state's 
best  patronized  hostelry.  It  is  highly  probable  that 
the  thousands  upon  thousands  of  her  citizens  who 
have  been  involuntarily  entertained  at  the  state's 
expense  at  Sing  Sing  will  not  take  exception  to  the 
name,  herewith  conferred  upon  that  hospitable  insti- 
tution. It  is  probable,  also,  that  a  majority  vote 
of  present  and  former  residents  of  the  state 's  least 
popular  inn  will  indorse  the  implication  that  the 
name  "Sing  Sing,"  originally  was  applied  to  the 
boarding-house  in  question,  merely  out  of  deference 
to  euphony. 

"Hell  on  the  Hudson"  would  have  been  unesthet- 
ically  coarse  and  painful  to  the  ears  of  the  good  and 
pure  citizens  who  are  mulcted  in  tithes  for  the  sup- 
port of  the  institution.  Especially  would  the  more 
appropriate  name  have  shocked  the  refined  sensi- 
bilities of  certain  persons  who  long  had  been  en- 
titled to  room  and  meal  ticket  at  the  state's  ex- 
pense, yet  had  been  deprived  of  the  privilege. 

The  devil  is  herewith  apologized  to,  out  of  hand, 
for  the  implied  libel  on  his  domain. 

Sing  Sing  Penitentiary  today  is  essentially  as 
it  was  at  the  time  of  the  occurrence  of  the  events 
narrated  in  this  story.  The  cell  houses  now  in  use 


226  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

were  built  in  1825^,  nearly  a  century  ago!  Some  re- 
forms have  been  instituted,  it  is  true,  and  the  insti- 
tution is  a  bit  cleaner  than  of  yore,  but  everything — 
the  system  especially — virtually  is  the  same.  The 
prison  always  has  been  an  anachronism,  a  monument 
to  human  stupidity,  and  the  apotheosis  of  graft  and 
of  man's  inhumanity  to  man.  Nor  is  the  institution 
in  any  wise  different  from  many  other  hell-holes  of 
its  official  kind  that  are  scattered  all  over  this  fair 
land  of  ours. 

Gray,  frowning,  cheerless  walls,  surrounding  a 
still  more  forbidding  and  repellent  interior,  ever 
have  made  the  unintelligent  construction  of  our 
prisons  a  reproach  to  the  men  who  design  them  and 
a  disgrace  to  the  authorities  who  immure  within 
their  walls  the  victims  of  Society's  own  sins. 

With  its  workshops,  where  the  sweat  of  social 
outcasts  was  milled  into  dollars  for  grafting  politic- 
ians and  greedy  contractors;  its  lock-stepping  files 
that  reduced  all  victims  of  Society's  sins  to  a  common 
dead  level  of  degradation,  and  the  stripes  that  cast 
a  bar  sinister  on  the  convict's  very  soul  and  were  a 
badge  of  infamy  destined  to  sear  on  his  brain  a 
vivid  and  agonizing  memory  of  ignominy  and  shame 
that  time  never  could  efface,  Sing  Sing,  or  any  other 
of  our  state  prisons  at  the  time  of  our  narrative, 
could  have  furnished  a  theme  for  a  Dante  or  a  Mil- 
ton. This  virtually  applies  to  most  of  them  today — 
although  some  are  worse  than  others. 

Over  the  gates  of  the  inferno  fabricated  by  Italy's 
greatest  imaginative  genius,  the  immortal  poet 
wrote:  "Leave  all  hope  behind,  all  ye  who  enter 
here."  He  who  enters  one  of  our  prisons  and  does 
not  leave  behind  not  only  hope,  but  self-respect  and 
health,  is  either  stronger  than  his  fellows  in  physi- 


HELL  ON  THE  HUDSON  227 

cal  and  moral  fibre,  very  fortunate  in  the  matter  of 
"pull,"  or  most  optimistic  in  his  faith  in  political 
gods. 

To  a  man  of  good  breeding  and  normal  mentality 
the  mere  idea  of  imprisonment  is  horrifying.  To 
feel  that  his  liberty  is  gone,  and  that  the  free  air  of 
heaven,  the  sunshine  and  flowers,  the  green  grass, 
the  breeze-kissed  foliage  of  the  trees,  the  sparkle 
and  sheen  of  waters,  and  the  music  of  the  birds  no 
longer  are  his  to  enjoy,  is  agonizing  to  any  one  save 
the  hardened  criminal,  to  whom  imprisonment  is  all 
in  the  game,  and  who  naturally  is  callous  to  the  more 
esthetically  sensuous  impressions  of  the  world  he 
has  left  behind.  Give  the  case-hardened  criminal 
the  privilege  of  taking  the  gin,  the  women  and  the 
carousals  of  the  underworld  with  him  into  prison, 
and  his  punishment  would  be  turned  into  a  mere 
sojourn  in  a  rather  uncomfortable  resort.  For  pure- 
ly business  reasons  he  may  be  anxious  to  return  to 
the  practice  of  his  profession,  but  he  experiences 
from  his  surroundings  no  sense  of  humiliation  nor 
shame  from  which  he  yearns  to  escape.  His  dis- 
comfort is  purely  physical. 

The  "habitual"  has  no  domestic  ties  to  break, 
no  pride  of  station  to  injure,  no  reputation  to  shat- 
ter and  knows  no  degradation — he  is  long  past  that. 
The  opinion  of  the  upperworld  is  naught  to  him. 
His  own  kind  looks  upon  him  as  a  hero,  "down  on 
his  luck. ' '  At  worst,  the  underworld  merely  regards 
him  as  a  fool  for  getting  "collared."  If  his  pride 
center  is  hurt  in  the  least,  it  is  because  his  capture 
and  conviction  are  a  reflection  upon  his  profession- 
al skill. 

Barely  does  the  convict  raise  his  head  above  the 
emasculating  influence  of  the  prison  and  make  a 


228  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

desperate  fight  for  freedom.  He  seldom  has  force  of 
character  sufficient  to  impel  him  to  break  jail.  What 
little  manhood  a  man  possesses  on  entering  prison 
soon  is  stamped  out  of  him  by  the  system.  Only 
occasionally  does  a  strong  leader  arise  who  will  lead 
a  prison  insurrection  and  attempt  a  general  jail  de- 
livery in  the  face  of  death,  or  at  the  very  least,  an 
increased  punishment.  The  convict  usually  is  quick- 
ly crushed  in  spirit — if  he  ever  had  any — and  drops 
readily  into  the  dull  and  featureless  life  of  the  pris- 
on. 

Parkyn  temperamentally  was  an  idealist,  yet  his 
mind  had  much  of  the  quality  of  practicality,  in- 
spired by  ambition.  He  loved  his  profession  and 
had  sufficient  faith  in  his  talents,  powers  of  indus- 
try and  perseverance  to  believe  that  success  in  his 
chosen  field  eventually  was  to  be  his. 

To  be  robbed  of  the  most  useful  years  of  his  life, 
the  years  in  which  he  should  be  buffeting  the  world 
and  gathering  strength  and  wisdom — for  to  such 
men,  time  spent  in  prison  is  just  that  much  taken 
out  of  life — and  to  lose  his  fighting  chance  in  the 
struggle  for  success,  was  the  refinement  of  cruelty. 

Among  the  shadows  that  darkened  his  mind  none 
was  so  somber  as  the  thought  of  his  dear  mother, 
who,  barely  strong  enough  to  endure  the  horror  of 
his  arrest  and  trial,  collapsed  into  a  complete  phys- 
ical wreck  when  injustice  was  crowned  with  the 
laurel  of  victory  and  the  dread  news  of  his  sentence 
came  to  her.  He  knew  that  she  could  not  possibly 
long  endure  the  sorrow  and  humiliation  of  his  im- 
prisonment, to  say  nothing  of  the  privations  which 
must  result  from  his  inability  to  aid  in  her  support, 


HELL  ON  THE  HUDSON  229 

for  grief  and  advancing  years  necessarily  must  ren- 
der her  incapable  of  self-sustenance.  And  to  think 
that  he  had  been  sent  to  prison  for  a  crime  of  which 
he  was  innocent! 

As  the  train  swiftly  bore  him  toward  Sing  Sing, 
that  burial  place  of  hope,  reputation,  ambition,  self- 
respect  and  liberty,  these  somber  thoughts  crowded 
thick  and  fast  upon  his  brain  and  drove  him  to  the 
verge  of  frenzy.  Could  he  have  done  so  he  would 
have  leaped  from  the  train  to  death  or  mutilation. 

But  soon  came  merciful  apathy  from  sheer  ex- 
haustion of  nerve  force,  and  he  sat  for  the  rest  of 
the  journey  gazing  with  dull  and  unseeing  eyes  out 
of  the  window  at  the  swiftly  flying  scenery.  When 
he  arrived  at  the  penitentiary  he  was  as  spiritless 
as  an  automaton. 

When  Eobert  Parkyn  entered  the  prison  to  begin 
the  long  stretch  of  years  that  must  elapse  before  he 
again  would  be  a  free  man,  he  was  in  a  merciful 
daze  that  blunted  the  edge  of  his  sensibilities  almost 
to  the  point  of  unconsciousness  of  his  surroundings. 
He  suffered,  without  a  murmur,  the  usual  manipu- 
lations to  which  the  newly-arrived  convict  is  sub- 
jected. The  bath,  the  hair  clipping,  the  atrocious 
ill-fitting  prison  garb — all  failed  to  arouse  in  him 
resentment  or  even  a  passing  interest. 

Not  until  he  had  been  duly  numbered  and  put  in 
his  cell,  did  reaction  come,  or  the  young  man  fully 
comprehend  his  situation.  Then  came  a  violent  ebul- 
lition of  rage  which  made  him  dangerous  for  the 
moment.  It  was  well  that  no  human  piece  of  the 
cruel  legal  machinery  which  had  immured  him  was 
within  reach,  for  number  515,  late  Robert  Parkyn, 
was  ready  to  act  to  the  very  letter  the  part  so  un- 


230  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

justly  given  him  by  the  law — this  with  no  particular 
regard  to  persons,  providing  the  victim  of  his  wrath 
was  an  official. 

He  raged  up  and  down  the  short  length  of  his 
cell  in  aimless  fury  for  a  while,  and  then  wildly 
rushed  at  the  door,  throwing  himself  against  the 
heavy  steel  bars  with  such  force  that  he  was  knocked 
to  the  floor,  stunned  and  helpless,  with  nose  bleeding 
and  one  of  his  eyes  badly  contused. 

When  he  recovered  his  senses  he  struggled  pain- 
fully to  a  sitting  position  and  saw  a  stalwart  uni- 
formed guard  leering  at  him  through  the  bars  of 
the  door  and  laughing  derisively. 

"Oh,  ho!  me  bucko.  Ye 're  tryin'  the  Samson  act, 
are  ye !  What 's  the  use  ?  A  lot  o '  fellers  has  tried  it, 
but  nobody  has  pulled  down  this  old  temple  yet. 
Better  save  yer  muscle — you'll  need  it  in  the  stone- 
yard  or  the  shops  before  ye  get  through." 

No.  515  glared  ominously  at  the  guard,  but  did  not 
reply. 

1 ' Like  t'  take  a  good,  hard  fall  out  o'  me,  wouldn't 
ye,  me  lad?  Well,  ye  better  not  try  any  o'  them  stunts 
here.  I'd  come  in  an'  give  ye  a  chance,  only  it 
wouldn't  be  fair.  Ye 're  a  new  boarder,  an'  don't 
know  the  ropes  yet.  But  don't  throw  no  more  o' 
them  Samson  fits.  It  ain't  healthy.  We've  got  a 
nice  lot  o'  cures  fer  bad  actors.  You've  got  a  twen- 
ty year  stretch  ahead  o'  ye,  an'  ye  better  get  busy 
doin'  it." 

The  guard  laughed  at  his  own  wit,  which  was  lost 
upon  the  prisoner,  who  still  was  staring  blankly  at 
him. 

"It's  no  trouble  ter  give  ye  what's  comin'  to  ye, 
if  ye  ain't  a  good  boy,"  continued  the  guard,  good- 
naturedly;  "but,  all  the  same,  ye'd  better  take  a  tip 


HELL  ON  THE  HUDSON  231 

from  yer  uncle.  Time  off  fer  good  conduct  beats 
the  dark  cell  and  bread  and  water,  or  gettin'  strung 
up  to  a  door  by  the  thumbs,  a  hell  of  a  ways.  Take 
a  tumble  now,  if  ye  know  what's  good  fer  yer 
health,"  and  the  guard  turned  away  and  strode  off 
down  the  corridor. 

No.  515  sat  savagely  glaring  through  the  bars  for 
some  time.  His  wits  finally  cleared  and  the  gleam  of 
ferocity  faded  from  his  eyes.  Unsteadily  rising  to 
his  feet  he  tottered  to  the  bunk  nearby  and  deject- 
edly sat  down  on  its  edge. 

Befuddled  as  he  was  while  the  guard  was  speak- 
ing, that  official's  remarks  were  not  altogether  lost 
upon  the  prisoner.  As  his  brain  cleared  he  instinct- 
ively realized  that  insubordination  would  merely 
serve  to  justify  the  verdict  passed  upon  him  and  in- 
crease his  punishment.  He  then  and  there  resolved 
to  so  conduct  himself  in  future  that  he  could  not  be 
robbed  of  whatever  was  his  due  in  the  way  of  time  al- 
lowance. Incidentally  he  determined  to  resist  to 
the  utmost  the  downward  drag  of  his  environment. 
His  identity  might  be  lost  during  his  term  of  im- 
prisonment, but  No.  515  should  be  forever  lost  and 
Robert  Parkyn  come  into  his  own  when  that  time  had 
expired. 

And  so,  to  all  outward  seeming,  515  became  a  mod- 
el prisoner.  Deep  down  in  his  heart  there  still 
burned  the  fire  of  resentment  for  his  unjust  con- 
victioji,  and  his  very  soul  was  suffused  with  gall  and 
wormwood,  but  no  one  ever  would  have  suspected 
that  his  attitude  was  not  one  of  quiet  resignation 
to  the  inevitable. 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  515  was  thrust  into  his 
cell.  Promptly  at  the  stroke  of  twelve,  the  pris- 


232  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

oners  were  marched  to  their  cells  preparatory  to 
giving  them  their  midday  meal. 

No.  515  discovered  that  his  cell-mate  was  a  huge, 
black,  aromatic  negro — a  half-witted,  miserable 
"throw-back,"  a  deaf-mute  and  a  " lifer,"  who,  he 
subsequently  learned,  had  assaulted  and  afterward 
murdered  a  young  white  woman  in  one  of  the  up- 
state towns. 

The  discovery  of  the  uncongeniality  and  odorif- 
erousness  of  his  cell-mate  had  one  redeeming  fea- 
ture ;  it  was  likely  to  reconcile  No.  515  to  anything 
in  the  way  of  labor  that  should  keep  him  out  of  that 
awful  cell. 

Let  those  who  believe  that  men  are  made  better  by 
imprisonment  reflect  on  the  dimensions  of  No.  515 's 
cell  in  Sing  Sing.  Seven  feet  long,  six  feet  eight 
inches  high  and  three  and  one-half  feet  wide!  Less 
than  eighty-three  cubic  feet  of  dead  air  space  each, 
for  two  men,  who  must  share  this  space  with  two 
stools,  a  slop  pail  and  two  immovable  bunks,  occu- 
pying half  the  width  of  the  cell,  so  that  with  his  back 
to  the  wall  the  convict  had  no  room  for  his  knees! 
From  five  o'clock  P.  M.,  to  6  A.  M.,  and  from  Satur- 
day night  till  Monday  morning  they  remained  im- 
mured in  this  awful  hole! 

At  noon  No.  515  was  herded  into  the  bread  line 
with  the  other  convicts,  who  were  marched  single 
file  past  the  stations  where  the  "duffers"  of  bread 
were  distributed,  and  thence  to  the  bare  pine  tables 
with  their  cheap,  meager  furnishings,  to  be  served 
with  the  thin  soup,  coarse  meat  and  abominable 
"coffee"  which  was  to  sustain  the  prisoners  for  the 
rest  of  their  day  of  arduous  toil.  The  new  convict 
could  not  eat ;  he  went  through  the  form  of  gulping 
down  several  mouthfuls  of  the  nauseous,  nondescript 
fluid  that  masqueraded  as  coffee,  and  at  the  end  of 


HELL  ON  THE  HUDSON  233 

the  meal  was  marched  back  with  the  others  and 
locked  in  his  cell. 

His  cell-mate  soon  afterward  was  marched  out 
with  his  fellow-convicts  to  work,  but  515  was  not  as- 
signed to  any  labor  until  the  following  morning, 
when  he  received  a  perfunctory  going  over  from  the 
physician  and  a  deputy  warden.  The  latter  seemed 
especially  pleased  with  the  prisoner's  robust  ap- 
pearance, and  assigned  him  to  work  in  the  stone 
yard. 

The  new  prisoner  soon  had  occasion  to  be  thankful 
for  his  magnificent  physique.  Day  labor  is  no  joke 
to  the  man  who  is  not  accustomed  to  it,  and  while 
he  was  a  splendid  athlete,  No.  515,  like  many  another 
man  with  a  muscular  system  developed  by  athletics, 
found  that  work  in  the  stone-yard  brought  muscles 
into  play  that  never  before  had  been  systematically 
exercised. 

Then,  too,  the  monotony  of  the  labor  itself  was 
frightfully  wearing.  In  athletics  one  can  vary  his 
muscular  movements  to  suit  his  own  pleasure,  or 
according  to  the  game;  not  so  in  hustling  and  cut- 
ting heavy  stone.  This  is  a  steady  grind  in  which 
there  is  no  element  of  play — and  play  is  the  special 
feature  of  athletics  that  relieves  it  of  the  tedium 
of  mere  drudgery. 

The  uncleanliness  of  the,  work  was  to  515  a  new 
feature  of  industry — one  to  which,  while  he  had 
nothing  but  respect  for  honest  toil,  he  had  great  dif- 
ficulty in  becoming  accustomed.  His  hands,  of  which 
he  was  wont  to  take  particular  care,  soon  lost  their 
well-kept  appearance  and  became  as  rough  and  dem- 
ocratic as  those  of  any  journeyman  stone-worker  or 
mason.  As  for  the  bathing  facilities  in  the  prison, 
the  less  said  about  them  the  better. 

The  worst  feature  of  the  treadmill  of  prison  labor 


234  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

was  the  brutal  silence  that  was  enforced  in  the  yards 
and  shops.  To  work  side  by  side  with  men  who 
were  compelled  to  keep  more  silent  than  horses  or 
oxen,  was  actual  torture. 

To  be  permitted  to  write  letters  only  after  two 
months  imprisonment,  and  then  only  once  a  month; 
to  see  friends  only  once  a  month — and  then  only  in 
the  presence  of  a  guard — and  to  be  punished  for 
smiling  at  a  fellow-convict!  Surely,  under  such  a 
benevolent  system,  only  the  most  hardened  criminal 
could  fail  of  reclamation. 

There  were  times  when  515  felt  that  he  must 
speak,  or  shout — or  go  mad.  He  was  deterred  from 
infraction  of  the  rules — which  inevitably  would  have 
been  followed  by  punishment  and  black  marks 
against  his  prison  record — only  by  his  fixed  policy  of 
earning  that  precious  time  allowance  that  seemed  so 
far  away,  yet  so  well  worth  striving  for. 

The  nights,  the  terrible,  seemingly  never-ending 
nights,  were  almost  unendurable.  Alone  with  his 
thoughts  in  his  uncomfortable  bunk,  breathing  the 
stifling,  fetid  air  of  his  narrow  quarters,  made  still 
more  awful  by  the  exhalations  of  the  body  and 
breath  of  the  half-witted  black  degenerate  who 
shared  his  cell,  No.  515  could  not  sleep  until  nearly 
daylight,  when  the  bad  air  and  complete  exhaus- 
tion overcame  him  and  he  sank  into  what  was  nearer 
coma  than  sleep,  an  unconscious  state  that  had  but 
one  redeeming  feature — it  was  dreamless.  And  then, 
early  in  the  morning,  stupid,  still  fatigued  and  list- 
less, he  was  awakened  to  begin  another  round  of 
weary  hours  of  awful,  unrequited  toil. 

Thus  the  new  convict  went  on,  day  in  and  day  out, 
in  the  dreary  round  of  arduous  manual  labor  in  an 
uncongenial  field  with  still  more  uncongenial  sur- 


HELL  ON  THE  HUDSON  235 

roundings,  rapidly  becoming  a  mere  atom  in  the 
remorseless  maw  of  the  inhuman  machinery  which 
slowly,  but  surely,  crushes  the  manhood — and  often 
the  very  life — out  of  its  victims. 

The  dull,  gray  monotony  of  the  daily  toil  of  even 
the  free  laborer,  claims  its  thousands  upon  thous- 
ands of  victims — reducing  them  to  mere  food  for 
the  huge  social  machine  which  grinds  the  many  into 
powder  so  that  the  few  may  live  in  luxury.  What 
chance  has  the  man  who  has  not  even  liberty  to  con- 
sole him,  and  whose  life-blood  slowly  is  sipped  by 
that  greediest  of  vampires,  the  prison-contract-labor 
system. 

The  steady,  merciless  grind  of  the  stone-yard, 
under  the  eye  and  the  tongue-lash  of  brutal  guards 
and  contract  labor  foremen,  who  punctuated  with 
kicks  and  blows  the  vile  oaths  with  which  they 
whipped  up  the  flagging  energies  of  the  lax-fibered 
convicts,  was  awful ! 

Before  entering  the  penitentiary,  many  of  the  pris- 
oners never  in  all  their  lives  had  done  a  day's  work 
at  manual  labor.  These  were  men  of  weak  power, 
whose  efficiency  was  far  below  the  normal — in  many 
almost  at  the  zero  point.  Nearly  all  the  convicts 
were  men  of  a  low  grade  of  efficiency. 

Immediately  to  plunge  such  men  as  these  into  the 
hardest  kind  of  labor  under  the  most  brutal  and 
exacting  of  task-masters,  labor  in  the  fruits  of  which 
they  never  could  participate,  was  the  very  refine- 
ment of  cruelty. 

No.  515  was  naturally  a  powerful  young  man  and 
had  all  the  energy  of  vigorous  youth,  yet  he  felt  the 
grind  most  keenly,  and  instinctively  pitied  the  weak- 
er vessels  among  his  companions  of  the  stone-yard 
gang.  He  was  not  surprised  when  a  convict  inflicted 


236  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

deliberate  injury  upon  himself  with  the  object  of 
escaping  the  cruel  trials  of  the  stone-yard. 

On  one  occasion  he  saw  the  man  who  was  working 
beside  him,  coolly  lay  one  of  his  fingers  upon  a  block 
of  stone  and  smash  it  with  a  setting  maul ! 

The  prisoner  was  sent  to  the  hospital,  where  the 
finger  was  amputated.  He  was  permitted  to  remain 
in  the  hospital  until  the  part  was  healed.  He  then 
was  sent  back  to  the  stone-yard. 

Within  three  days  the  desperate  man  deliberately 
smashed  another  finger,  and  again  was  sent  to  the 
hospital  for  repairs — and  another  amputation!  On 
his  recovery  he  received  another  dose  of  the  stone- 
yard. 

Still  a  third  time  did  the  poor  devil  mutilate  a 
finger!  While  the  doctor  was  dressing  the  injured 
member  the  convict  said : 

"Say,  Doc.,  what  the  hell's  the  use  o'  makin'  me 
hike  back  an'  forth  between  here  and  the  stone-yard! 
I'll  furnish  you  with  jobs  as  long  as  I  have  any  lunch- 
hooks  left.  See?  I  won't  work  in  that  yard,  that's 
what!  Better  keep  me  here,  Doc." 

Doctor  Lyford,  the  prison  physician,  being  a  hu- 
mane man,  of  ideas  at  least  a  little  advanced,  and 
withal  not  lacking  in  humor,  kept  the  perpetual  sur- 
gical clinic  in  the  hospital  and  made  an  orderly  of 
him. 

How  many  prison  officials  know  why  prisoners 
malinger — pretending  sickness  though  they  have  it 
not  ?  Yet  how  simple  it  all  is. 

Thanks  to  our  stupid,  penurious,  medieval  penal 
system — which  is  so  busy  punishing  the  criminal 
that  it  has  no  money  to  spend  or  time  to  spare  in 
studying  him — the  ordinary  prison  official  barely 
can  see  beyond  his  nose,  much  less  comprehend  the 


HELL  ON  THE  HUDSON  237 

problems  that  daily  face  him.  He  knows  nothing  of 
criminal  psychology.  Even  the  average  prison  phy- 
sician usually  is  young  and  inexperienced,  has  no 
heart  in  his  work  and  no  ambition  other  than  to 
save  enough  of  his  meager  salary  to  enable  him  to 
get  a  start  in  private  practice. 

When  the  convict  appears  on  the  "sick  line*'  com- 
plaining of  bogus  ailments,  how  simple  the  explana- 
tion that  the  poor  devil  merely  is  trying  to  make  a 
nuisance  of  himself  or  to  evade  tasks. 

Deep  down  in  the  heart  of  the  most  hardened 
criminal  is  a  desire  for  human  sympathy  and  com- 
panionship. He  gets  this  in  the  hospital. "  Then,  too, 
he  makes  up  in  egotism  what  he  lacks  in  self-respect. 
By  pretending  to  be  ill,  he  secures  for  the  time 
being  the  center  of  the  stage.  How  else  can  we 
explain  the  fact  that  a  prisoner  will  endure  almost 
any  discomfort  for  the  privilege  of  appearing  on 
the  sick  line?  The  most  nauseous,  revolting  drugs 
given  for  the  purpose  of  curing  him  of  his  dishonest 
pretense  of  sickness,  have  no  terror  for  the  prison 
malingerer !  As  to  evading  work,  despite  his  weak- 
ness of  fibre  the  convict  rarely  would  attempt  to 
evade  reasonable  labor  under  proper  conditions. 

And  most  convicts  take  their  religion  just  as  they 
do  their  medicine.  It  is  a  diversion  that  brings  them 
into  the  lime-light  of  individual  attention  and  at- 
tracts to  them  the  sympathetic  attention  of  certain 
illogical  folk  who  proselyte  for  the  gratification  of 
their  own  egotism  and  who,  in  their  work  in  the 
vineyard  of  the  Lord,  pursue  sinners  as  any  true 
sportsman  might  hunt  game. 

No  reward  for  his  labor,  no  companionship,  no 
love,  no  freedom,  no  converse  with  his  kind — and 
harsh,  brutal  treatment!  Is  it  surprising  that  our 


238  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

penal  system  has  been  a  failure — aye,  a  stench  in  the 
nostrils  of  humanity ! 

No.  515  scarcely  could  hope  for  intervention  of 
any  kind.  He  had  no  influence  whatever  in  the  out- 
side world,  and  it  was  from  here  that  aid  must 
come.  He  soon  was  completely  out  of  touch  with 
the  social  system  whose  victim  he  was.  Halloran 
had  been  transferred  to  a  far  distant  job,  and  his 
occasional  letters  were  the  only  evidence  that  any- 
one save  his  sick  mother  knew  that  Robert  Parkyn 
still  lived. 

Shortly  after  his  incarceration  in  Sing  Sing,  the 
young  man  received  the  news  that  his  mother's  ill- 
ness, albeit  a  lingering  one,  was  destined  to  prove 
fatal.  This  was  not  unexpected,  yet  it  came  to  him 
with  a  terrific  shock,  succeeded  with  an  odd  combina- 
tion of  mental  apathy,  alternating  with  periods  of 
resentment  which  were  the  more  soul-racking  be- 
cause suppressed.  He  occasionally  had  a  hazy  half- 
notion  that  the  awful  injustice  that  had  been  done 
him  sooner  or  later  would  be  righted  in  one  way  or 
another — it  seemed  dimly  preposterous  that  this 
should  not  be  so — only  to  awaken  to  a  renewed  con- 
sciousness of  the  hopelessness  of  his  situation. 

The  guards  had  not  yet  been  especially  brutal  to 
him — possibly  because  he  was  strong,  did  his  tasks 
well,  and  for  the  most  part  had  been  docile  enough. 
But  prison  guards  are  not  averse  to  making  trouble 
with  the  best  behaved  convicts.  Often  and  often 
the  guards  at  Sing  Sing  would  deliberately  aggra- 
vate to  fury  men  who  performed  their  tasks  without 
a  murmur  and  showed  a  capacity  for  "licking  up" 
work  that  should  have  been  pleasing  to  almost  any 
employer,  and  especially  gratifying  to  the  guards 


HELL  ON  THE  HUDSON  239 

assigned  to  duty  in  the  shops  and  yards,  who  en- 
deavored to  get  as  much  work  out  of  the  convicts  as 
they  could,  for  the  greater  profit  of  the  contractors 
— whose  agents,  in  effect,  the  guards  really  were. 

Men  were  cunningly  changed  about  from  depart- 
ment to  department  of  the  prison — the  State  care- 
fully avoided  teaching  the  convicts  anything  that 
would  be  useful  outside  of  the  prison.^  For  example, 
convicts  were  taught  to  run  a  machine  for  cutting 
shoe  soles,  but  never  to  make  a  shoe.  The  trades 
taught  at  Sing  Sing  and  the  habits  of  industry  in- 
culcated, would  have  been  quite  as  useful  to  a  horse. 

A  good,  skillful  worker,  if  allowed  to  go  on  peace- 
fully and  quietly,  was  sure  of  his  time  allowance. 
This  did  not  please  the  contractors,  who  coined  the 
fatigue  and  heartaches  and  the  perspiration  of  the 
State 's  slaves  into  dollars.  The  interests  of  the  con- 
tractors and  of  the  grafters  higher  up,  who  turned 
some  of  these  dollars  into  bonds  printed  in  the  poor 
devils  of  prisoners '  very  blood,  must  be  conserved ; 
that  was  what  Sing  Sing  was  for. 

And  so,  on  occasion,  good  workers  were  goaded 
by  persecutions  until,  exasperated  beyond  human 
endurance,  they  committed  some  infraction  of  the 
rules.  With  each  infraction  came  punishment  and 
time  loss,  and  it  was  not  long  before  the  time  allow- 
ance for  good  behavior  had  been  licked  up  clean  by 
the  atrocious  system. 

Although  he  had  determined  to  be  a  model  pris- 
oner and  to  save  his  time  allowance  at  all  hazards, 
No.  515  finally  got  upon  very  thin  ice.  The  con- 
temptible petty  jabs  and  stabs  in  his  pride  center, 
and  the  profane  abuse  to  which  he  was  daily  ex- 
posed, finally  put  his  nerves  on  edge,  and  he  became 
morose  and  irritable.  That,  sooner  or  later,  he 


240  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

would  lose  self-control,  with  an  explosion  of  resent- 
ment, would  be  brutally  treated  and  go  the  way  so 
many  other  prisoners  had  gone,  seemed  inevitable — 
and  so  it  would  have  been,  had  not  an  incident  oc- 
curred which  was  destined  to  change  the  current  of 
his  life. 


CHAPTEB  XV 

THE   NEW   TRUSTY 

As  Major  Donaldson  was  passing  through  the 
stone-yard  one  morning  on  his  usual  rounds  of  the 
prison,  he  noticed  a  group  of  convicts  engaged  in 
moving  into  position  a  particularly  heavy  slab  of 
granite,  preparatory  to  cutting  it,  and  stopped  for  a 
moment  to  watch  them. 

Through  carelessness,  or  perhaps  inattention  due 
to  the  knowledge  that  the  warden  was  watching 
them,  the  men  who  were  supporting  one  side  of  the 
stone  let  it  fall  squarely  upon  the  leg  of  one  of  their 
number,  lacerating  it  frightfully  and  pinning  him 
to  the  ground.  The  unfortunate  fellow  gave  a  sharp 
cry  of  pain  and  fainted  dead  away,  while  his  com- 
panions stood  helplessly  by,  staring  dumbly  at  the 
victim  of  their  awkwardness. 

Instinctively  the  Major  hastened  toward  the  un- 
fortunate prisoner  with  the  intention  of  directing 
his  extrication  from  a  painful  and  dangerous  predic- 
ament. Before  he  could  reach  the  injured  man  a 
convict  who  was  close  at  hand  seized  a  piece  of  scant- 
ling that  was  lying  near,  rushed  to  the  scene  of  the 
accident  and  peremptorily  ordering  several  of  the 
group  of  men  who  stood  about  the  stone  to  assist 
him  in  raising  the  heavy  mass,  inserted  the  lever 
beneath  it  and  elevated  it  sufficiently  to  allow  the 
prostrate  man's  companions  to  pull  him  free.  The 


242  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

rescuer  then  turned  the  matter  over  to  the  guards, 
who  by  this  time  had  arrived  on  the  scene.  A  stretch- 
er was  brought  and  the  injured  man  removed  to  the 
hospital. 

The  warden  watched  the  proceedings  with  sympa- 
thetic interest  and,  after  seeing  the  poor  fellow  on 
his  way  to  the  hospital,  accosted  the  convict  who  had 
succored  his  comrade. 

' 'That  was  well  done,  my  man,"  he  remarked, 
warmly;  "you  have  great  presence  of  mind." 

The  prisoner  touched  his  cap. 

''It  was  nothing,  sir,"  he  modestly  replied;  "the 
other  men  probably  would  have  thought  of  the  same 
thing  themselves  if  they  had  not  been  so  shocked 
and  surprised  by  the  accident." 

The  warden  looked  narrowly  at  the  convict,  noting 
with  interest  the  man's  refinement  of  language  and 
manner. 

"But,  all  the  same,  they  didn't  think  of  it,  and  you 
did.  It  was  good  work,  my  man — good  work!" 

Mentally  noting  the  convict's  number,  the  kindly 
old  Major  passed  on,  following  the  stretcher  to  the 
hospital  to  learn  the  extent  of  the  prisoner's  in- 
juries and  see  that  he  received  proper  attention. 

As  the  injured  man  was  a  "lifer"  and  never  again 
could  be  compelled  to  work,  he  was  the  envied  of  all 
observers  when  he  was  convalescent  and  began  to 
stump  around  on  the  wooden  leg  with  which  the 
state  so  generously  had  provided  him.  The  preva- 
lent convict  sentiment  was;  "Ain't  he  the  lucky 
guy?" 

A  few  days  later  Major  Donaldson  instructed  his 
secretary  to  inform  Deputy  Warden  McCabe  that 
he  wished  to  have  No.  515  taken  out  of  the  stone- 


THE  NEW  TRUSTY  243 

yard  gang  and  assigned  as  a  trusty  to  duty  at  the 
warden's  office,  as  messenger  and  general  helper. 

The  stone-yard  having  become  intolerable,  No. 
515  received  his  appointment  as  trusty  with  great 
joy  and  appreciation  of  the  privilege  conferred  upon 
him. 

With  the  native  political  shrewdness  of  his  race, 
tempered  by  long  official  experience,  McCabe  climbed 
into  the  band-wagon  and  gave  515  a  new  cell-mate 
in  the  person  of  a  clever  counterfeiter,  who  was 
boarding  at  Sing  Sing  at  the  expense  of  the  United 
States  Government. 

This  man  instinctively  was  a  gentleman,  and  unde- 
niably an  artist,  "gone  wrong."  He  had  been  an 
employe  of  a  bond  engraving  house,  where  he  had 
learned  too  much — for  his  own  good.  He  had  found 
the  art  of  deception  by  his  pen  very  fascinating, 
and  had  done  one  of  the  cleverest  bits  of  counter- 
feiting that  ever  had  come  under  the  notice  of  the 
government.  His  crime  consisted  of  counterfeiting 
Avith  a  pen,  a  single  one  hundred  dollar  bill ! 

Strange  to  say,  it  was  not  cupidity  that  caused  the 
downfall  of  No.  1028.  By  working  at  his  regular 
profession  at  the  high  salary  paid  such  artists,  the 
counterfeiter  could  have  earned  in  the  time  consumed 
in  making  the  counterfeit,  three  times  the  amount 
represented  by  the  figure  on  the  note !  The  bill  was 
a  beautiful  specimen  of  pen- work,  and  as  an  artistic 
production  alone,  was  well  worth  its  counterfeit 
value. 

A  few  of  the  better  informed  may  understand  that 
this  man's  crime  was  due  to  his  artistic  ideals.  He 
was  so  confident  of  his  skill  and  so  proud  of  his 
talent  that  he  could  not  be  content  with  anything 


244  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

less  than  deceiving  Uncle  Sam  by  a  magnificent  piece 
of  art  work. 

The  work  did  not  quite  deceive  the  government 
experts  as  to  its  genuineness,  but  they  missed  its 
underlying  motive — as  did  numerous  others,  who 
knew  more  of  money  and  the  law  of  the  land  than 
of  the  artistic  temperament  which  so  enjoys  " put- 
ting one  over"  on  those  whose  business  it  is  not  to 
be  fooled. 

eWhen  the  Chief  of  the  United  States  Secret  Ser- 
vice laid  hands  on  the  above  mentioned  work  of  art, 
he  was  amazed  at  the  fidelity  and  beauty  of  the 
drawing.  Discovering  on  close  inspection  that  the 
bogus  one  hundred  dollar  note  had  been  made  with 
pen  and  ink,  every  stroke  of  which  represented  the 
highest  priced  art  in  the  profession  of  engraving, 
the  chief  exclaimed : 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned!  Was  there  ever  such  a 
fool  on  God's  green  earth?" 

The  chief  himself  had  " temperament"  and  knew 
a  thing  of  beauty  when  he  saw  it.  As  he  committed 
the  bill  to  the  flames  he  sighed,  "What  a  pity!"  and 
as  the  beautiful  creation  curled  and  crackled  and 
was  consumed  he  said,  with  a  puzzled  air,  "I  can't 
understand  it." 

Of  course  he  couldn't  understand  it.  And  yet  it 
was  so  simple.  A  true  work  of  art  is  a  work  of 
love,  and  counterfeiting  is  not  the  only  crime  that 
has  been  committed  for  the  love  of  art  for  art's 
sake ;  nor  was  No.  1028  the  only  artist  who  ever  has 
been  immured  within  prison  walls  for  serving  his 
art  better  than  he  served  Society. 

Crime,  after  all,  merely  is  misapplied  energy.  It 
sometimes  is  misdirected  genius — the  genius  of  art, 
science,  invention  or  finance. 


THE  NEW  TEUSTY  245 

And  so,  kind  sirs,  sweet  charity,  or,  what  is  much 
the  same  thing,  a  better  understanding — and  a  bet- 
ter "  system." 

No.  515  found  his  new  cell-mate  "breathable," 
thereby  differing  from  the  unwholesome  atmos- 
phere created  by  the  ebon-hued  Senegambian  with 
whom  he  previously  had  shared  his  narrow  quarters. 

No.  1028  also  was  congenial.  He  had  enjoyed  a 
fine  education,  much  worldly  experience,  and  was 
artistic  to  his  finger  tips.  Moreover,  he  could  whis- 
per most  entertainingly  and  discreetly,  sustaining 
his  end  of  a  conversation  almost  under  the  very  noses 
of  the  guards. 

After  No.  515  himself  had  mastered  the  difficult 
art  of  conversation  under  his  breath,  the  two  men 
beguiled  both  the  time  and  the  guards. 

Like  515,  No.  1028  also  had  ideals. 

Ideals  in  a  prison?  Yes,  of  course — chiefly  among 
the  prisoners,  it  must  be  admitted,  but,  to  give  the 
system  its  due,  they  sometimes  are  found  even 
among  the  officials. 

Now  and  then  there  is  a  convict  or  an  official  who 
takes  ideals  into  prison  with  him  and  escapes  the  dead- 
level  pressure  from  above  and  the  dead-level  pull 
from  below  that  would  force  the  one  into  the  common 
criminal  mould  of  helplessness,  dull  despair  and 
moral  and  mental  anesthesia,  and  the  other  into  the 
common  official  trend  of  callous  indifference,  besot- 
ted ignorance  and  merciless  inhumanity. 

There  was  but  one  limitation  to  the  range  of  sub- 
jects discussed  by  our  two  convict  "numbers."  The 
subject  of  murder  and  murderers  was  studiously 
avoided. 

No.  515  had  told  his  story  to  his  new  cell-mate 


246  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

early  in  the  course  of  their  acquaintance,  and  had  re- 
ceived a  shock  that  cured  him  of  all  disposition  to 
again  unfold  the  tale  of  his  martyrdom.  No.  1028 
listened  very  attentively,  with  a  politeness  which  a 
Chesterfield  might  have  envied,  but  it  was  evident 
to  515  that  his  artistic  companion  did  not  believe 
his  story. 

The  elaborate  care  with  which  1028  thereafter 
avoided  all  reference  to  the  particular  form  of  crime 
for  which  his  cell-mate  had  been  unjustly  imprisoned, 
was  most  exasperating  to  the  latter,  but  there  was 
nothing  to  do  save  to  endure  it  as  philosophically  as 
he  could.  Then,  too,  on  sober  second  thought,  No.  515 
could  not  logically  blame  his  partner  in  misery, 
whose  attitude  was  that  of  everybody  else  in  the 
prison  world  and  could  be  supported  by  the  official 
records,  should  any  doubt  arise. 

After  he  had  got  his  bearings,  the  only  thing  that 
really  hurt  No.  515  was  the  intuitive  knowledge  that 
the  counterfeiter  considered  himself  to  be  built  of 
clay  superior  to  his  "bunky."  Being  an  artist  and 
unashamed  of  his  own  work — for  he  claimed  that  he 
had  been  sentenced  merely  because  those  ineffable 
asses,  the  government  officials,  could  not  appreciate 
the  most  wonderful  and  beautiful  work  of  art  ever 
penned — No.  1028  had  rather  definite  ideas  of  his 
own  regarding  murderers. 

The  counterfeiter  did,  however,  rather  grudgingly 
admit  that  certain  carefully  selected  murderers  were 
in  a  class  immediately  below  his  own  profession  in 
the  criminal  social  scale.  Primarily,  this  was  not 
because  he  was  biased  in  favor  of  his  cell-mate,  but 
because  he  was  a  wise  observer.  He  had  a  profound 
contempt  for  dips,  burglars  and  night-prowlers  of 
their  kin,  sneak-thieves  and  lush  workers.  Yeggmen 


THE  NEW  TRUSTY  247 

he  might  have  recognized  as  heroes — there  was  haz- 
ard in  the  "soup"  and  much  danger  in  " cracking 
the  box"  and  making  a  "get-away" — were  it  not 
that  their  heroics  began  and  ended  in  theft — ordi- 
nary, vulgar  theft. 

' '  Caste ' '  among  criminals  f  Certainly :  The  yegg- 
man  looks  down  upon  the  ordinary  burglar;  they 
both  despise  the  pickpocket,  and  both  are  despised 
by  the  "stick-up"  man;  the  shoplifter  views  with 
contempt  the  female  abortionist — and  so  on  all  along 
the  line.  Murder  brings  the  professional  criminal 
into  the  heroic  ranks  of  the  gun-men — and  who  in 
gangland  carries  his  head  higher? 

And  why  should  one  marvel  at  this?  Are  not  all 
professions  lacking  in  the  sense  of  humor? 

Taken  by  and  large,  the  accident  that  happened 
in  the  stone-yard,  although  it  cost  the  poor  fellow 
who  sustained  it  the  loss  of  his  leg,  was  a  Godsend 
to  him  and  to  No.  515 — especially  to  the  latter.  His 
duties  as  a  trusty  were  light,  and  while  the  mere 
fact  that  he  was  a  trusty  made  him  unpopular  with 
the  other  convicts — for  among  inmates  in  prisons, 
"trusty"  ever  was  synonymous  with  "snitch" — he 
found  his  new  position  at  least  endurable. 

Best  of  all  was  the  opportunity  afforded  him  for 
reading  and  study.  On  several  occasions  he  had 
the  opportunity  to  make  himself  useful  to  the  prison 
chaplain,  who  had  charge  of  the  library.  The  rev- 
erend gentleman  took  a  fancy  to  him  and  arranged 
matters  with  the  warden  so  that  the  trusty  could 
spend  considerable  time  among  the  books. 

No.  515  was  an  ardent  book-lover,  and  the  library 
being  stocked  with  a  fairly  well  selected  assortment 
of  volumes  on  every  conceivable  topic,  life  now  was 


248  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

as  comfortable  as  it  could  have  been  made  in  prison, 
and,  inasmuch  as  day  by  day  he  was  adding  to  his 
store  of  knowledge,  he  did  not  feel  that  his  time 
was  entirely  wasted. 

The  chaplain  was  a  sincere,  kindly,  dear  old  man, 
who  would  have  done  a  great  work  among  the  pris- 
oners, had  he  thrown  a  little  less  responsibility  upon 
the  soul  and  more  upon  the  body.  With  rare  judg- 
ment he  felt  that  it  was  of  little  use  to  labor  for  the 
conversion  of  515.  The  clergyman  had  common 
sense  sufficient  to  know  that  the  beneficences  of  God 
do  not  loom  large  upon  the  horizon  of  a  free-thinker 
confined  in  prison  for  a  crime  which  he  claimed  he 
did  not  commit.  As  for  the  argument  that  the  pris- 
oner's woes  were  designed  by  the  Almighty  as  a 
punishment  for  his  untheologic  bias,  the  chaplain 
was  too  wise  to  advance  it,  even  if  he  himself  believed 
it,  which  he  most  emphatically  did  not. 

As  the  new  trusty  responded  to  the  influence  of  his 
more  congenial  environment,  his  mind  became  less 
apathetic  and,  although  without  influential  friends 
to  intercede  for  him  or  the  development  of  any  fea- 
ture of  his  case  which  would  suggest  that  it  might  be 
re-opened,  he  began  to  hope  that  something  would 
happen  which  would  clear  his  name  and  give  him  his 
liberty.  Such  is  the  elasticity  of  youth!  And  all 
because  he  had  been  placed  in  a  position  where  he 
was  treated  as  if  he  were  half-way  human  and  not, 
as  he  had  been  for  more  than  half  a  year,  a  mere  bi- 
pedal brute,  toiling  without  fee  or  reward  for  cruel 
masters ! 

Victim  of  cruel  circumstances  though  he  was ;  en- 
meshed in  the  toils  of  inexorable  social  custom ;  im- 
mured within  the  grim  and  unfeeling  walls  of  a  pris- 
on; the  companion  of  Society's  dregs  and  off  scour- 


THE  NEW  TRUSTY  249 

ings;  a  social  pariah  with  the  primeval  brand  of 
Cain  upon  him;  scorned  and  rejected  of  men;  friend- 
less, alone,  and  apparently* abandoned  by  fate,  No. 
515  now  was  willing  to  believe  that,  somehow,  some- 
where, sometime,  his  sun  must  shine  again,  and  the 
moon  and  stars  shed  their  silvery  beams  upon  the 
world  that  now  was  but  a  monster  shape  of  dense 
and  awful  gloom. 

How  fortunate  it  was  for  human  kind  that,  when 
Pandora  broke  that  marvellous  box,  hope  was  not 
spilled  along  with  the  rest  of  the  stuff. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

BEARDING  A  HOBBYIST  IN   HIS  LAIB 

It  was  a  balmy  morning  in  April.  The  warden's 
secretary,  Howard  Duryea,  an  alert,  competent 
young  man  whom  Major  Donaldson  had  brought 
with  him  from  Ithaca,  his  own  home  town,  was  busily 
engaged  in  putting  the  office  in  order  in  anticipation 
of  the  appearance  of  his  chief,  whom  he  momen- 
tarily expected. 

From  time  to  time  he  interrupted  his  task  and 
glanced  put  of  one  of  the  large  windows  which 
opened  directly  upon  a  stone-flagged  courtyard,  en- 
closed upon  the  side  toward  the  river  by  the  main 
wall  of  the  prison.  The  view  from  the  window  was 
a  beautiful  one,  although  marred  by  numerous  sor- 
did details  peculiar  to  prisons. 

The  warden's  office  was  elevated  sufficiently  to 
enable  Duryea  to  look  over  and  beyond  the  massive, 
gray,  forbidding  stone  wall  at  the  Hudson,  which 
was  sparkling  and  shimmering  in  the  sunlight  like 
a  stream  of  molten  silver.  Beyond  the  river  he  saw 
the  beautiful  verdure-bedecked  Catskills,  above 
which  floated  huge  banks  of  cumulus  and  long  soft 
fleeces  of  cirrhus  clouds  that  resembled  masses  of 
carded  wool.  At  the  base  of  the  mountains  lay  the 
morning  mist,  which  was  slowly  rising  and  dissi- 
pating before  the  warm  rays  of  the  sun.  Through 
the  mist  could  be  seen  the  spectral  picturesque  shapes 
of  several  windmills  on  farms  on  the  opposite  shore. 


BEARDING  A  HOBBYIST  251 

Just  above  the  river,  keeping  a  keen  lookout  for  the 
breakfast  which  the  stream  never  failed  to  supply 
them,  soared  a  flock  of  snowy-breasted  gulls. 

Now  and  again  a  pleasure  yacht,  with  white  sails 
full  set  and  bellying  in  the  soft  morning  breeze, 
swept  by.  Occasionally  there  appeared  in  the 
distance  a  bevy  of  small  sailboats,  looking  for  all 
the  world  like  a  lot  of  chips  propelled  by  white 
handkerchiefs  for  sails.  An  occasional  skiff,  con- 
taining merry  girls  and  their  swains,  toiled  along, 
impelled  by  willing  arms  and  more  or  less  skilfully 
bandied  oars.  Several  large  excursion  steamers, 
with  bands  playing  popular  music,  puffed  by,  loaded 
with  joyous,  mirthful  pleasure-seekers  bound  down 
stream. 

"Heigho!"  sighed  Duryea,  "This  is  the  sort  of 
morning  that  makes  a  man  feel  too  strong  to  work. 
Those  boats  certainly  look  good  to  me,  especially 
those  steamers  bound  for  little  old  New  York." 

The  young  man  was  brought  back  to  earth  by 
the  sight  of  a  uniformed,  somber,  cartridge-belted 
sentry,  who  stepped  out  of  the  sentry-box  that  stood 
on  the  top  at  the  corner  of  the  wall.  Leaning  on  his 
loaded  rifle,  the  guard  gazed  out  over  the  river  as 
if  he  too,  had  a  longing  for  nature  or,  what  was  more 
likely,  for  some  of  the  devil's  inventions  devised  by 
that  good  little  gentleman  in  black  with  the  assist- 
ance of  man,  for  the  malevolent  purpose  of  keeping 
a  poor  prison  sentry  from  devoting  his  entire  atten- 
tion to  duty. 

The  secretary  noted  also,  that  in  order  to  view 
the  scene  which  had  so  strongly  attracted  him,  he 
himself  unconsciously  had  drawn  near  the  window 
and  was  peering  out  through  the  unesthetic  lattice 
of  steel  with  which  it  was  guarded. 


252  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Humph ! "  he  exclaimed  facetiously, * ' in  the  midst 
of  life  we  are  in  the  pen !  A  fellow  can 't  even  get  a 
rubber  at  nature  or  a  glimpse  of  freedom  that  isn't 
filtered  through  a  gridiron.  The  Lord  help  those 
poor  striped  devils  that  can't  get  out  after  hours !" 

He  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"Great  Scott!  look  at  the  time.  The  Major'll  be 
here  in  a  minute,  and  if  he  ever  catches  me  lying 
down  on  the  job— well,  he'll  have  me  court-martialed 
and  shot  at  sunrise,  or  cashiered,  or  reduced  to  the 
ranks,  or  whatever  punishment  fits  the  crime — in  the 
army!" 

The  young  man  smiled  indulgently  as  he  recalled 
the  warden's  pet  notions  of  discipline,  then  complet- 
ing his  task  of  putting  things  into  shape,  seated  him- 
self at  his  own  diminutive  desk  and  began  scrib- 
bling away  at  some  correspondence. 

Granting  that  one  did  not  look  at  the  iron-barred 
doors  and  the  steel  lattice  of  the  windows,  the  in- 
terior of  the  warden's  office  at  Sing  Sing  was  pleas- 
antly suggestive  of  the  sanctum  of  an  up-to-date 
business  man  of  the  outer  world.  On  one  side  of 
the  room  stood  a  huge  flat-topped,  mahogany  library 
table-desk,  heaped  with  a  miscellaneous  array  of 
books  and  papers,  a  large  letter  press  and  files,  and 
other  ordinary  office  "junk." 

A  comfortable,  swivel  office  chair  at  one  side  and  a 
huge  leather  upholstered  easy  chair  at  one  end  of  the 
desk,  with  a  number  of  smaller  mahogany  chairs, 
completed  the  furniture  of  the  room.  The  walls 
were  hung  with  a  rich  and  tasty  paper,  and  on  the 
floor  were  several  luxurious  rugs  of  cheerful  design. 
On  the  wall,  just  behind  the  desk,  hung  a  couple 
of  fine  specimens  of  Old  Glory  and  a  pair  of  crossed 
business-like  cavalry  sabers. 

As  the  young  secretary  often  had  remarked,  the 


BEARDING  A  HOBBYIST  253 

warden's  office  was  "not  half  bad,  considering  its 
location  and  street  number. ' ' 

Around  the  room,  against  the  walls,  stood  the 
"morgue" — cases  of  filing  cabinets  containing  the 
prisoners'  records,  descriptions,  measurements  and 
' '  mugs, ' '  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  them.  The  Ber- 
tillon  system  was  not  yet  in  vogue,  hence  these  rec- 
ords were  very  crude  and  incomplete  compared  with 
those  of  today. 

Duryea  finished  his  letters  and  clasping  his  hands 
behind  his  head  leaned  back  lazily  in  his  chair.  Glanc- 
ing at  the  calendar  on  the  wall,  he  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  remarked  aloud: 

"By  Jove!  I  almost  forgot.  It's  visitor's  day. 
That  means  interruptions  all  day  long,  and  double 
work  tomorrow  to  catch  up.  There's  work  enough 
ahead  for  ten  men  at  that.  It's  the  first  day  of  the 
month,  too!" 

"Hello,  there,  Kid!"  interrupted  a  voice  from  the 
door  — "What's  eatin'  ye?" 

Duryea  turned  toward  the  speaker  and  discovered 
Deputy  Warden  McCabe,  who  had  entered  just  in 
time  to  hear  a  portion  of  the  secretary's  soliloquy. 

The  young  man  straightened  up  with  mock  dignity 
and  gave  a  military  salute. 

"Sir? "he  exclaimed. 

"Beg  pardon,  Mr.  Duryea,  I  forgot."  McCabe 
grinned  broadly  as  he  answered  the  salute. 

"That's  better,  sir,"  commented  Duryea,  pom- 
pously, and  they  both  laughed  heartily. 

"Good  mornin',  Howard." 

"Good  morning,  Mac." 

"Now  that  we're  properly  introduced,"  inquired 
McCabe,  "what  was  the  particular  beef  ye  was  mak- 
in'  when  I  broke  in  on  ye?" 

1 '  Oh,  I  was  kicking  about  visitor 's  day.    It 's  a  con- 


254  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

founded  nuisance!  I  wish  the  Major  would  either 
close  the  office  on  visitor's  day  and  let  us  all  go 
fishing,  or  lock  the  door  and  keep  everybody  out 
except  the  people  who  have  business  here — and  it 
wouldn't  hurt  to  enforce  the  lock-out  on  some  of 
them." 

"Well,"  said  McCabe  sententiously,  "there  may 
be  a  difference  of  opinion  about  the  nuisance.  Some 
o '  the  guests  o '  this  old  tavern  might  not  agree  with 
ye." 

"That's  right,  Mac,"  replied  the  secretary,  apolo- 
getically, "but  one  doesn't  always  think  about  the 
other  fellow." 

McCabe  noticed  the  empty  chair  at  the  desk. 

"Where's  the  Major,  Howard?" 

"Don't  know."  The  secretary  glanced  at  the  clock. 
"He  should  be  here  by  now.  Maybe  he's  trying  to 
dodge  visitor's  day." 

"To  be  real  honest  with  ye,"  grinned  McCabe,  "I 
wouldn't  blame  the  old  man  much.  It's  one  o'  the 
days  when  I'm  glad  I  ain't  boss  o'  the  works." 

"Hope  the  Major  is  better  natured  today,  Mac. 
He  had  a  grouch  on  yesterday  that  was  something 
fierce." 

"What  was  he  peeved  at?"  inquired  McCabe  with 
a  forced  effort  to  appear  innocently  disinterested. 

"As  if  you  didn't  know  as  well  as  I  do !"  retorted 
Duryea  indignantly.  "You  know  blamed  well  what 
ails  the  Major.  He's  still  as  sore  as  a  boil  about 
that  poor  cuss  that  Gleason  shot  the  other  day. ' ' 

"Sure,  I  know,"  admitted  McCabe,  gloomily,  "but 
where  the  devil  do  we  get  off?  If  one  o'  these 
blamed  birds  makes  his  get-away,  we  catch  hell! 
If  we  pot  him,  we  catch  hell — an'  get  in  Dutch  all 
around.  We're  damned  if  we  do,  an'  damned  if  we 


BEARDING  A  HOBBYIST  255 

don't.  What's  a  feller  to  do?  Good  jobs  are  mighty 
scarce  these  days." 

"Yes,  Mac,"  chaffed  the  secretary,  "soft  snaps 
are  scarce  and  you've  held  yours  only  twenty  years, 
eh?  Poor  old  chap!  It's  when  a  fellow  gets  too 
strong  for  real  work  that  he  makes  a  holler  about 
good  jobs  being  hard  to  get." 

"Well,  you've  got  some  soft  snap,  yerself,  if  any- 
body asks  ye,"  sneered  McCabe.  "People  in  glass 
houses  better  not  practice  with  sling-shots." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!  Perhaps  I  have  got  a  soft 
snap.  But  say,  McCabe,  I  often  wish  I  were  a  big, 
husky  brute  like  you. ' ' 

"Prize  ring,  eh?"  grinned  McCabe. 

"Almost  anything — but  a  man-herder,"  blazed 
Duryea. 

"Good  shot!"  chuckled  McCabe.  "The  old  man 
knew  what  he  was  doin '  when  he  hired  you.  Chicken 
heart  met  yellow  kid  that  day." 

"Say,  Mac,  I  wonder  how  the  Major  would  like 
to  hear  that?" 

"He'd  be  pretty  hot,  I  reckon,"  replied  McCabe, 
"but  he's  not  goin'  to  hear  it  and,"  he  added  sig- 
nificantly, "you'll  not  tell  him,  either.  See?" 

Duryea  looked  the  chief  deputy  in  the  eye  for  a 
moment  and  replied,  *  *  That 's  a  bet ! — but  not  because 
I'm  afraid.  Don't  you  forget  that." 

McCabe  satirically  eyed  the  young  man  from  head 
to  foot,  and  working  his  arms  in  imitation  of  the 
flapping  of  a  rooster's  wings  cried,  "Cock  a  doodle 
doo!" 

"Yes,"  retorted  Durea,  angrily,  "  'Cock  a  doodle 
doo ! ' — lout  I  'm  the  old  blue  hen 's  chicken,  and  he 's 
got  gaffs  to  back  up  his  crow  with.  Just  put  that 
in  your  memory  book — and  mark  the  page." 


256  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Oh,  come  off,  Kid!"  exclaimed  McCabe,  good 
naturally ; ' '  let 's  cut  out  the  rough  stuff.  It 's  no  use 
chewin'  the  rag  and  tryin'  to  take  a  fall  out  o'  each 
other.  We  can't  either  of  us  find  a  place  to  get  off, 
if  we  begin  that." 

"All  right,  Mac,  we'll  let  it  go  at  that,"  growled 
Duryea,  "but  be  careful  how  you  slam  the  Major. 
I'm  mighty  strong  for  him." 

"So  am" I,  Kid,  for  the  matter  o'  that.  I  didn't 
really  mean  to  knock  him.  He's  a  dead  game  old 
sport,  even  if  he  is  a  bit  daffy  on  some  things — an' 
I  like  him.  You  see,  Howard,  it's  this  way:  I've 
been  on  one  job  or  another  in  this  dump  for  twen- 
ty years,  as  you  said — started  at  the  bottom  and 
worked  up.  Had  a  good  pull  an'  they  couldn't  can 
me.  See?  I've  seen  a  lot  o'  stunts  pulled  off,  my 
boy,  under  the  old  system,  an'  the  Major's  new- 
fangled notions  jar  me;  that's  all.  P'raps  it's  be- 
cause it's  hard  for  an  old  dog  to  learn  new  tricks." 

"Even  good  ones,  ehf"  laughed  Duryea,  laying 
his  hand  in  friendly  fashion  on  the  deputy  warden's 
arm.  "What's  the  matter  with  the  Major's  new- 
fangled notions,  Mac?  What  is  it  that  jars  you?" 

"Oh,  hell!"  blurted  McCabe,  "he's  spoilin'  the 
prisoners!  They're  gettin'  so  cocky  that  there's  no 
livin'  with  'em.  Why,  they're  beginnin'  to  think 
they're  all  nice  little  gentlemen." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  retorted  Duryea,  ironically;  "the 
guards  can't  stand  that  sort  of  competition.  The 
line  between  guards  and  guarded  musn't  be  too 
sharply  drawn,  eh?" 

1  *  Oh,  cut  it  out,  Kid !    You  know  what  I  mean. '  ^ 

"Hey!  Close  up  there,  you  damned  scuts!"  cried 
an  angry  voice  just  outside  the  window. 

The  two  men  looked  out  into  the  prison  yard  and 


BEARDING  A  HOBBYIST  257 

saw  a  long  file  of  convicts  lock-stepping  past 
under  the  charge  of  several  guards. 

"Yes,"  replied  Duryea,  quietly,  "I  know  what 
you  mean — better  than  you  do.  He 's  trying  to  teach 
the  prisoners  self-respect,  while  you, ' '  and  he  point- 
ed to  the  somber  file  of  convicts  who  still  were  shuf- 
fling by,  "you  prefer  that  striped,  crawling  human 
centipede,  as  the  Major  calls  it,  a  blot  upon  the  fair 
face  of  civilization,  that  poisons  and  kills  the  man- 
hood and  self-respect  of  every  man  that  gets  into 
it.  Look  at  those  faces !  All  look  alike,  don't  they? 
Cringing,  ashamed,  leaden — hopeless!  Just  as  the 
Major  says — cut  your  hair  and  mine,  stick  us  into 
stripes  and  put  us  into  that  shuffling  gang  of  crushed 
humanity,  and  we'd  be  just  like  the  other  joints  of 
that  awful  beast." 

"Well,  what  the  devil  are  you  goin'  to  do  with 
'em?" 

"Ask  the  warden,"  answered  Duryea,  quietly. 

"Ask  the  warden!"  protested  McCabe.  "I  know 
just  what  I  'd  get.  He  'd  give  me  a  lecture  on  ventila- 
tion an'  whitewash,  good  food  an'  soap  an'  water, 
mental  development  an '  gymnasiums,  military  disci- 
pline an'  the  milk  o'  human  kindness.  A  hell  of  a 
combination,  that!  Bah!  Prisoners  are  prisoners 
— the  scum  o'  the  earth,  that's  what!" 

' '  Some  are,  not  all, ' '  contradicted  Duryea.  "Any- 
how, who's  to  blame?  Major  Donaldson  says  that 
Society  is  responsible  for  its  own  scum  and  its  ow~ 
dregs,  and  that  the  difference  between  the  two  is 
that  the  scum  has  money  and  education,  and  a  chance 
for  itself,  and  the  dregs  never  had  any  of  those 
things." 

"Huh!  'Me  an'  the  Major,'  eh?"  grunted  McCabe, 
obstinately.  "Even  if  he  was  right,  the  preachin' 


258  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

game  wouldn't  help  any — not  so  you  could  notice 
it." 

"The  Major  never  preaches!"  returned  Duryea, 
testily.  "He  leaves  that  to  the  chaplain  and  priest. 
He  says,  get  their  blood  right  and  their  brains  right 
first — then  let  the  preachers  do  their  damnedest. ' ' 

McCabe  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said  some- 
thing under  his  breath,  but  made  no  audible  com- 
ment. 

"The  trouble  is,  Mac,"  continued  the  young  dis- 
ciple of  the  new  idea,  loftily,  "that  the  Major  is 
several  thousand  years  ahead  of  you  and  those 
other  rough-necks — those  cave-men  in  uniform, ' '  and 
he  nodded  in  the  general  direction  of  the  deputy 
warden's  and  guards'  quarters. 

"I  don't  know  much  about  cave-men,"  said  Mc- 
Cabe, doubtfully,  "but  I  do  know  that  between  the 
sky  pilots,  the  old  hen  social  reformers,  and  an  old- 
soldier  warden  full  o'  hobbies,  us  old-timers  are 
likely  to  have  a  hell  of  a  time  with  the  prisoners — 
an'  no  pitch  hot.  That's  a  livin'  cinch." 

"Well,"  asked  Duryea,  with  a  twinkle  of  amused 
anticipation  in  his  eye,  "what  would  you  do  about 
it,  old  man  ? ' ' 

"What  would  7  do  about  it?  Hell!  that's  dead 
easy,  son.  I'd  do  just  what  we  did  before  we  took 
the  Major  on.  The  butt  of  a  six-shooter  can  out- 
talk  the  warden  an'  out-preach  the  preacher.  It 
takes  the  solitary  an'  about  a  week  o'  bread  an' 
water  eats  ter  get  a  prisoner  in  a  prayerful  frame 
o'  mind,  and,"  McCabe  continued,  earnestly,  "you've 
no  idea  how  easy  it  is  ter  reason  with  a  feller  that 's 
strung  up  by  the  thumbs." 

"Oh,  wake  up,  McCabe !"  exclaimed  Duryea,  wear- 
ily; "  you  make  me  tired. ' ' 


BEARDING  A  HOBBYIST  259 

"Wake  up,  nothin'!  I  wish  ter  God  I  was  only 
dreamin'  bad  dreams.  The  hope  o'  wakin'  up  is  the 
best  I'll  ever  get  while  the  Major's  holdin'  down  that 
chair  yonder — unless  he  wakes  up — an'  I  don't  guess 
he  will." 

A  step  was  heard  in  the  hall. 

"S — sh!"  whispered  the  secretary,  warningly; 
"here  he  comes  now!" 

McCabe  stood  at  attention,  whilst  Duryea  busied 
himself  arranging  the  books  and  papers  on  the  war- 
den 's  desk. 

Major  Donaldson  bustled  in,  and  pausing  just 
within  the  door  stood  erect  in  all  his  martial  dignity, 
as  stiff  as  though  he  were  on  parade,  expectantly 
surveying  his  secretary  and  the  chief  deputy. 

Duryea  followed  McCabe 's  example  and  came  to 
attention.  Both  men  clicked  their  heels  together 
and  brought  their  right  hands  up  in  formal  military 
salute. 

The  Major  returned  the  salute  and  greeted  them 
ceremoniously. 

1  *  Good  morning,  Mr.  McCabe. — Good  morning,  Mr. 
Duryea. ' ' 

' i  Good  morning,  sir, ' '  replied  both  men  in  chorus. 

The  Major  seated  himself  at  his  desk  and  said, 
with  great  impressiveness : 

"Permit  me  to  say,  gentlemen,  that  the  manner 
in  which  you  just  now  received  me  shows  great  im- 
provement. I  really  believe  I  shall  succeed  in  mak- 
ing soldiers  of  you,  after  all.  Raise  your  chin  just 
a  trifle  higher,  Mr.  McCabe — and  throw  your  shoul- 
ders back  just  a  shade  more,  Mr.  Duryea." 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  McCabe  respectfully,  tilting 
up  his  chin. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  secretary,  throwing 


260  TKUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

back  his  shoulders  and  protruding  his  chest  like  a 
pouter  pigeon. 

"That's  better,"  commented  the  Major,  evidently 
pleased. 

The  two  students  of  etiquette  and  carriage  mili- 
tant, remaining  at  attention,  winked  and  smiled  at 
each  other  surreptitiously  while  the  Major  was  pot- 
tering with  some  papers  in  a  drawer  of  his  desk. 

The  warden  closed  the  drawer  with  a  snap,  turned 
toward  the  chief  deputy  and  asked  abruptly,  but 
with  a  solicitude  which  his  brusquerie  ill  concealed: 

"How's  the  good  wife,  this  morning,  McCabe — 
and  that  wonderful  twelve-pound  boy?" 

"Both  doin'  well,  sir,  thank  you." 

"Give  Mrs.  McCabe  my  congratulations  and  re- 
gards, and  tell  her  to  move  herself  and  that  young- 
ster out  of  jail  into  the  country,  as  soon  as  the  doc- 
tor will  give  her  a  ticket  of  leave.  I'll  parole  the 
boy." 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  McCabe,  soberly;  "that'll 
please  her — and  tickle  the  boy  most  to  death." 

The  warden  turned  to  his  secretary. 

"How's  the  pleurisy,  Howard?" 

"I'm  so  much  better,  sir,"  Duryea  answered,  mer- 
rily, "that  Dr.  Lyford  says  I'm  a  malingerer.  He 
threatened  to  have  me  locked  up  on  a  bread  and 
water  diet." 

"What!  Lyford  said  that!  Quite  put  of  date, 
sir — quite  out  of  date !  And  very  ineffective.  Why — " 
The  Major  suddenly  noted  the  by-play  of  grins  and 
winks  between  McCabe  and  Duryea. 

"Eh?  What  the  deuce— Ah,  yes,  I  see,  the  doc- 
tor will  have  his  little  joke." 

"Any  orders,  sir?"  inquired  McCabe. 

"Nothing,  except  that  I  want  the  prisoners  in 


BEARDING  A  HOBBYIST  261 

chapel  at  half -past  seven  this  evening.  I  am  going 
to  give  them  a  talk." 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  chief  deputy  saluted  and  left  the  office.  As 
he  passed  the  secretary  on  his  way  out,  he  muttered 
in  that  gentleman's  ear:  "Say,  Kid,  I'll  have  a 
hunk  o'  frosted  cake  with  plums  in  it,  an'  a  bunch 
o'  hot-house  violets  ready  for  each  o'  them  striped- 
backed  gents  at  tonight's  reception." 

McCabe  paused  at  the  door  just  long  enough  to 
exchange  grins  with  Duryea  and  then  disappeared. 

"Mr.  Duryea,"  said  the  warden,  "kindly  ask  Dr. 
Lyf  ord  to  come  to  the  office. ' ' 

The  secretary  went  to  the  speaking  tube,  called 
the  surgeon,  informed  him  that  the  warden  would 
like  to  see  him,  and  returned  to  his  work.  A  moment 
later  the  doctor  entered,  and,  saluting  the  warden, 
quietly  awaited  his  pleasure. 

"Good  morning,  Doctor,  how  is  No.  700?" 

"He  is  doing  finely,  sir.  The  ball  did  not  pene- 
trate the  skull,  as  I  at  first  thought.  It  flattened  on 
the  bone,  passed  around  the  head  beneath  the  scalp 
and  lodged  just  below  the  occiput.  I  extracted  it 
very  easily.  Here  it  is,  sir,  much  the  worse  for 
wear,"  and  he  handed  the  ball  to  the  warden. 

Major  Donaldson  examined  the  missile  with  the 
eye  of  a  connoisseur. 

"Humph !  Pretty  well  knocked  out  of  shape;  isn't 
it,  Doctor?  It's  no  wonder  that  it  does  so  little  good 
to  preach  to  criminals." 

Ah!"  laughed  the  doctor,  "but  they  are  not  all 
like  that,  sir.  I  posted  one  the  other  day  who  had  a 
skull  like  a  paper-shell  almond." 

"Well,  Doctor,  I  suppose  it  makes  very  little  dif- 
ference whether  a  convict's  head  is  so  thick  that 


262  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

you  can't  beat  any  sense  into  it  with  a  club,  or  so 
thin  that  what  little  he  has  leaks  out.  It's  all  the 
same  in  the  long  run.  Criminals  are  not  built  right, 
any  way  you  take  them. ' ' 

" Very  true,  sir." 

Dr.  Lyford  caught  a  quizzical  glance  from  the 
secretary's  eye  and  suppressed  a  smile. 

"I'm  mighty  glad  that  man  is  going  to  pull 
through,  Doctor,"  continued  the  Major.  "How  are 
the  rest  of  the  patients  ? ' ' 

"They  all  are  doing  well,  sir,  thank  you." 

"Have  you  had  any  trouble  in  getting  the  extra 
diet?" 

"None  whatever,  sir." 

"Glad  to  hear  it.  If  things  don't  go  to  suit  you, 
report  to  me  at  once.  The  hospital  first,  every 
time." 

"Thank  you.    Anything  more,  sir?" 

1 '  Nothing, ' '  said  the  warden,  saluting  the  surgeon 
to  indicate  that  the  interview  was  ended. 

Major  Donaldson  returned  to  his  official  papers, 
grumbling  aloud  to  himself. 

"I  suppose  we'll  have  the  usual  crowd  of  curios- 
ity-seekers today.  It  wouldn't  be  so  bad  if  there 
weren't  so  many  who  demand  the  warden's  personal 
attention.  Well,"  he  growled,  "they'll  get  short 
shrift.  It's  the  first  day  of  the  month,  and  business 
is  business.  Oh,  by  the  way,  Mr.  Duryea,"  he  called 
to  his  secretary,  who  had  been  amusedly  listening 
to  his  grumbling,  "Ask  Mr.  McCabe  to  order  Glea- 
son  to  report  to  me  at  once." 

The  secretary  obeyed,  via  the  speaking  tube,  then, 
turning  to  the  warden,  quietly  asked,  ' '  Shall  I  leave 
the  room,  sir?" 


BEAEDING  A  HOBBYIST  263 

''By  no  means.  Remain  at  your  desk — and  inci- 
dentally take  notes  of  the  conversation." 

A  moment  later  a  burly,  uniformed,  hard-looking 
fellow  of  some  forty  years  of  age  slouched  in  and 
stood  doggedly  expectant. 

The  warden  coolly  surveyed  the  guard  for  a  mo- 
ment and  then  said,  explosively;  "Well!" 

"W — why,  you  s — sent  for  me,  sir,"  stammered 
the  guard. 

"Well  sir!"  thundered  the  Major. 

Suddenly  recollecting,  the  guard  saluted  in  a  surly 
fashion. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  sir,  I  didn't  think." 

"That's  better,  sir,"  returned  the  Major,  some- 
what mollified. 

He  looked  at  Gleason  steadily  for  a  moment. 

"I  suppose  you  have  heard,  Gleason,  that  the  man 
you  shot  is  going  to  pull  through?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"That  ought  to  relieve  your  conscience,  if  you 
have  any.  Let  me  tell  you  something,  Gleason, ' '  the 
warden  continued  sternly,  "I've  looked  up  your  rec- 
ord in  this  institution,  and  I  find  that  you  hold  the 
diamond  belt  for  brutality  and  gun-play — and  you  've 
been  here  only  three  years,  at  that.  Take  my  ad- 
vice; be  mighty  careful  hereafter  with  that  cannon 
of  yours. ' ' 

"Well,"  asked  Gleason,  doggedly,  with  just  a 
shade  of  impudence  in  his  manner,  "what  d'ye  ex- 
pect us  to  do — let  'em  get  away?" 

Major  Donaldson  rose  from  his  chair  with  a 
snap  of  his  entire  six  feet,  and  replied,  sharply;  "I 
expect  you  to  do  your  duty,  my  man, — nothing 
more." 


264  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"What  d'  ye  call  my  duty,  sir!" 

"You  know  your  duty,  Gleason!"  thundered  the 
Major.  "It  is  not  necessary  to  rehearse  it.  And 
there's  something  else,  my  friend,  that  you'd  best 
remember:  Sing  Sing  prison  is  no  place  to  settle 
either  political  debts  or  personal  grudges. ' ' 

"I — I  don't  understand,  sir." 

"Oh,  yes  you  do,"  and  by  way  of  emphasis,  the 
warden  struck  the  desk  a  resounding  whack  with  a 
bundle  of  papers  he  held  in  his  hand.  "You've 
been  persecuting  that  man  ever  since  he  entered  the 
prison— chiefly  because,  when  he  was  free,  he  was 
too  active  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  political  fence. 

"And  what's  more,"  pursued  the  Major,  with  ris- 
ing anger,  "you  had  a  little  account  to  settle  with 
him  for  certain  parties  in  New  York  City.  That 
prisoner  knows  too  much  to  suit  you  anid  your 
friends,  Gleason.  I'm  morally  certain  that  you  laid 
a  trap  for  him — made  it  look  easy,  let  him  get  away, 
and  then  shot  him.  One  more  break  on  your  part 
and  I  '11  break  you. ' ' 

"B— but  sir, —  I—" 

' '  That  will  do,  my  man !  Good  morning, ' '  and  the 
warden  resumed  his  chair  and  his  work. 

Gleason  scowlingly  slouched  toward  the  door. 

An  afterthought  occurred  to  the  Major,  and  he 
called  after  the  guard;  "Oh,  by  the  way,  Gleason." 

The  guard  stopped  and  turned  toward  the  chief. 

"Prisoners,"  said  the  Major,  with  impressive  de- 
liberation, "sometimes  have  long  memories — and 
most  of  them  finally  get  out  of  jail.  Cassidy,  you 
will  remember,  was  pretty  mean  to  several  of  them. 
Like  you,  he  probably  had  some  little  debts  to  pay. 
He  went  away  on  leave  one  night  and  didn't  get 


BEARDING  A  HOBBYIST  265 

back.  You  know  what  happened.  He  was  found 
next  morning  down  by  the  river,  with  his  brains 
beaten  out!  I  suspect  you  can  guess  who  did  it. 
Think  it  over,  my  friend. ' ' 

Gleason  did  not  reply,  but  when  he  reached  the 
outer  hall  where  he  could  not  be  seen,  he  stopped 
long  enough  to  shake  his  fist  in  the  warden's  direc- 
tion and  express  his  opinion  of  that  official. 

" You '11  break  me,  will  you,  you  big  stiff?  If  you 
stick  yer  damned  nose  into  other  people's  business 
too  much,  Bull  Hennessy'll  break  you,  quicker 'n  a 
monkey  can  take  his  hat  off ! " 

"A  bad  lot,  that  fellow,"  commented  the  Major, 
"and  there  are  others  in  this  institution  who  are 
on  the  wrong  side  of  the  bars.  I'm  bucking  against 
a  rotten  and  vicious  system,  my  boy,  and  I  don't 
know  who  is  going  to  win.  I  sometimes  fear  I'll 
lose  out — the  fellow  who  tries  to  over-thfow  time- 
honored  evils  usually  does  lose  out." 

The  Major  sighed  and  looked  thoughtfully  out  of 
the  window  at  the  sentry  who,  with  rifle  on  shoulder, 
was  marching  past,  and  beyond  him  at  the  mountains 
and  the  blue  sky-line  above  their  peaks. 

"Yes,  Major!"  exclaimed  the  secretary,  with  the 
enthusiasm  and  rosy  optimism  of  youth;  "but  his 
principles  will  live,  if  they  are  right.  Eemember 
John  Brown,  sir." 

"Thanks  for  the  encouragement,  Howard,  I  was 
thinking  of  him,"  replied  the  Major  with  grim  hu- 
mor. "And  I  remember  the  song,  too.  But,  my 
young  friend,  I  am  not  a  fanatic.  When  poor  old 
Ossawottamie  Brown  felt  that  cruel  rope  around 
his  neck,  he  probably  derived  some  comfort  out  of 
his  dream  of  abolition,  but  I  can't  see  where  the 


266  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

fun  came  in.  Judging  by  the  way  a  tight  collar  an- 
noys me,"  he  laughed,  "I  don't  believe  that  I'm  the 
sort  of  stuff  of  which  martyrs  are  made.  I'm  a 
pretty  good  soldier,  my  boy,  but  I'm  just  human 
enough  to  want  to  accomplish  results  in  the  here  and 
now — results  I  can  live  to  see."  The  Major  again 
turned  to  his  desk. 

A  convict  in  the  garb  of  a  trusty,  with  an  envelope 
in  his  hand,  entered  and  stood  awaiting  the  warden's 
notice. 

Major  Donaldson  looked  up  from  his  papers  and 
said,  kindly;  ''Well,  my  man?" 

The  man  saluted  and  approaching  the  desk  handed 
the  note  to  the  warden. 

"From  Mr.  McCabe,  sir,"  he  explained,  respect- 
fully. 

The  Major  read  the  note  and  laying  it  on  his  desk, 
said;  "Tell  Mr.  McCabe  that  I'll  take  the  matter  up 
with  him  later." 

The  prisoner  saluted,  "about  faced"  in  military 
fashion  and  departed  on  his  mission. 

"What  do  you  make  of  that  fellow,  Howard?" 
asked  the  warden. 

"Why,  he  seems  to  be  a  misfit,  somehow,  sir." 

"The  same  idea  has  occurred  to  me.  That's  why 
I  took  him  out  of  the  stone-yard  and  made  a  trusty 
of  him.  He  certainly  was  a  misfit  breaking  rocks. 
He's  a  husky  chap,  at  that.  What's  his  record?" 

The  secretary  went  to  the  "morgue,"  opened  a 
drawer,  and  after  a  brief  search,  took  from  it  a 
card. 

"Here  it  is,  sir — No.  515.  Been  in  prison  six 
months.  Serving  a  twenty-year  term  for  manslaugh- 
ter." 

"Oh,  I  see.    Ever  notice,  Howard,  that  on  the  av- 


BEABDING  A  HOBBYIST  267 

erage,  the  man-killers  are  the  most  genteel  and  best- 
behaved  prisoners  we  have?" 

''Yes,  sir,  and  I'll  confess  that  it  puzzles  me." 

' '  The  answer  is  easy,  my  boy.  The  law  says  that 
the  murderer  is  a  criminal,  but  nine  times  out  of 
ten  he  isn't.  He's  just  plain  human,  that's  all,  and 
his  primitive  emotions1  have  overcome  him.  We're 
all  savages  under  the  skin.  Humph ! "  he  ejaculated, 
"  there  never  was  a  real  man  with  red  corpuscles  in 
his  blood,  that  didn't  have  the  germ  of  murder  in 
his  system.  We  have  to  have  a  war  now  and  then,  to 
get  it  out  of  us.  That's  why  I  don't  believe  that  we'll 
ever  have  world- wide,  enduring  peace. ' ' 

Duryea  listened  with  startled,  wide-eyed  interest, 
drinking  in  every  amazing  syllable. 

The  Major  went  on,  reminiscently : 

"Why,  I've  known  men  to  slip  ball  cartridges  in 
among  the  blanks  and  fire  them  at  their  comrades 
in  a  sham  battle !  And  still, ' '  he  continued,  thought- 
fully; "there  are  mighty  few  man-killers  who  are 
not  sorry  that  they  did  the  killing.  Murder  is  not 
a  profession  nowadays,  excepting  with  the  law  and 
with  governments.  Most  murderers  have  the 
making  of  good  citizens  in  them.  The  insane  ones 
and  the  crooks  who  kill  in  the  way  of  business  neces- 
sity perhaps  are  the  only  exceptions. ' ' 

The  problem  was  too  deep  for  Duryea  to  digest 
immediately.  He  made  no  reply  other  than  to  re- 
mark, as  he  replaced  the  record  and  closed  the  draw- 
er, "Well,  anyway,  that  man  was  a  gentleman  at 
home,  I  dare  say." 

"Do  you  know  any  of  the  particulars  of  his  case, 
Howard?" 

"Y — yes,  sir,"  answered  Duryea,  with  some  em- 
barrassment. "You  see,  sir,  I — well,  I  was  inter- 


268  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

ested  in  him  and  I — I  got  him  to  talking  and — Well, 
I  suppose  it  was  hardly  according  to  regulations 
but—" 

"Eh?"  interrupted  the  warden,  brusquely,  putting 
his  hand  to  his  ear  in  a  pretended  effort  to  hear  bet- 
ter. "I  don't  hear  you.  I'm  deaf  in  this  ear.  Nev- 
er mind  the  regulations — but  don't  do  it  again. 
Well?" 

"He's  that  man  Parkyn,  sir,  who  was  convicted 
of  killing  a  laborer  on  the  New  York  Central  during 
the  big  railroad  strike. ' ' 

"So,  that's  Parkyn,  eh?"  mused  the  warden. 

"Yes,  sir,"  enthused  Duryea.  "He's  a  Harvard 
man,  sir!  and  the  greatest  half-back  that  ever — " 

"That  ever  made  the  wrong  goal,"  interrupted 
the  Major  dryly,  "I  recall  the  case  now.  It  was  an 
odd  one,  and  there  were  some  things  about  it  that 
looked  a  bit  queer." 

"He  says  he's  innocent,  sir." 

"Indeed?  Well,  I've  heard  that  before,  many, 
many  times.  And  not  all  of  them  lied.  But,  my  boy, 
the  trial's  over,  the  court's  adjourned — and  Sing 
Sing  isn't  a  good  place  for  a  come-back.  More's 
the  pity,  sometimes." 

The  Major  paused  to  look  at  a  file  of  convicts 
under  guard  that  was  crawling  by  the  window  at  a 
snail's  pace,  to  the  usual  dismal  accompaniment  of 
the  "shuffle"  that  never  is  heard  outside  of  pris- 
ons. 

"Do  you  see  that,  Howard?  WTien  they  are 
trimmed  alike,  dressed  alike,  and  put  into  that  chain 
— that  endless  chain  of  misery  which  girdles  and  dis- 
graces the  world — under  a  brutal  guard  or  two, 
nothing  short  of  omniscience  ever  could  separate  the 


BEABDING  A  HOBBYIST  269 

tares  from  the  wheat.     And  that  very  gang  con- 
tains both." 

The  Major  sighed  and  picking  up  some  formidable 
looking  documents  from  the  desk,  said;  "Mr.  Dur- 
yea,  I  believe  I'll  escape  while  I  have  the  chance, 
and  leave  you  to  run  the  office  for  a  while.  I  should 
like  to  finish  my  report,  but  I  doubt  my  ability  to  do 
it  here." 

"I'll  do  the  best  I  can,  sir,  but  I  don't  know  what 
I  shall  do  with  the  star  visitors.  I'm  not  a  high- 
grade  entertainer." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  quite  inhuman,  Howard,"  laughed 
the  warden.  "I'll  return  and  defend  you  as  soon  as 
I  have  finished  my  report.  There  probably  will  not 
be  many  visitors  until  afternoon,  anyway."  He 
glanced  at  the  clock.  "I'll  be  back  by  eleven,  I 
think." 

Duryea  breathed  a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 

"You've  saved  my  life,  sir!"  he  said,  with  sin- 
cere gratitude. 

The  Major  laughed  heartily  at  Duryea 's  thank- 
fulness at  escaping  what  the  young  man  evidently 
considered  a  severe  ordeal,  and  started  for  the  door. 

As  he  entered  the  hall  he  bumped  squarely  into 
the  prison  matron,  a  stout,  white-capped,  motherly 
middle-aged  woman,  who  was  just  about  to  turn  into 
the  door  of  the  office!  In  her  hand  she  carried  a 
large  sheet  of  closely  written  paper. 

The  impact  of  the  two  rather  corpulent  figures 
was  distinctly  demoralizing  to  both.  They  grunted 
in  unison  and  stood  for  several  seconds  gasping  like 
a  couple  of  fishes  just  landed. 

Duryea  took  in  the  comical  situation  with  an  ap- 
preciation which  was  none  the  less  keen  when  he 


270  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

recalled  his  chief's  rigid  ideas  of  military  etiquette. 
He  chuckled  to  himself  behind  his  hand. 

"  'Raise  the  hand  just  a  trifle  higher,  Mr.  McCabe, 
and  throw  your  shoulders  back  just  a  shade  more, 
Mr.  Duryea." 

"Ah!  What  the  dev — !  I  beg  your  pardon! 
Good  morning,  Mrs.  Morgan!"  sputtered  the  war- 
den, as  soon  as  he  had  caught  his  breath. 

The  matron  laughed  almost  hysterically,  instant- 
ly apologizing: 

"You  really  must  excuse  me,  sir,  I — I  can't  help 
laughing.  It  was  so — so  funny!" 

The  Major  was  all  dignity  at  once. 

"I  congratulate  you  on  your  keen  sense  of  humor, 
madam,"  he  said  stiffly.  Having  contributed  to  the 
gayety  of  nations — and  of  Mrs.  Morgan — he  con- 
tinued, frigidly,  "what  else  can  I  do  for  you?" 

The  matron  was  sobered  at  once. 

"It  is  the  diet  list,  sir.    Will  you  please  sign  it?" 

The  Major  returned  to  his  desk,  glanced  rapidly 
at  the  columns  of  items,  signed  the  paper  and  dis- 
missed the  matron.  As  he  again  started  for  the 
door,  he  slyly  looked  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  in 
Duryea's  direction.  That  discreet  and  valuable  per- 
son was  standing  by  the  window,  apparently  gazing 
off  into  the  ethereal  western  blue  on  which  were 
limned  the  hazy  outlines  of  the  distant  mountains. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  REVELATION  AND  A  CALLER  WHO  GETS  CALLED 

After  the  Major  had  left  the  office,  his  secretary 
worked  at  the  prison  records  very  diligently  for 
some  time,  accomplishing  a  prodigious  amount  of 
work.  Finishing  everything  in  sight,  he  went  to  his 
favorite  place  at  the  window  and  stood  for  a  while, 
dreamily  gazing  riverward  and  breathing  in  great 
quantities  of  the  invigorating  air. 

"Heigho!"  he  yawned;  "this  surely  is  one  of  the 
mornings  when  a  fellow  feels  like  joining  the  Roy- 
al Order  of  the  Sons  of  Best.  I'll  bet  I've  got 
spring  fever.  Wonder  if  the  warden  would  mind  if 
I  played  hookey  for  a  little  while."  He  looked  at 
the  clock  and  noted  the  time. 

"Probably  not,"  he  grinned,  "if  he  doesn't  catch 
me  at  it,  and  I'll  be  back  on  the  job  before  he  is, 
believe  me."  His  conscience  gave  him  a  slight  jab 
and  he  muttered:  "There's  nothing  doing  anyway 
— everything's  cleaned  up — and  I'll  get  a  trusty  to 
watch  the  office.  If  any  visitors  come  they'll  be 
tickled  to  death  with  him. ' ' 

The  secretary  snickered  as  he  thought  of  the  fool 
questions  the  poor  trusty  would  have  to  answer  as 
a  penalty  for  the  privilege  of  talking — which  was  one 
of  the  indulgences  granted  to  trusties. 

Duryea  took  his  hat  from  the  rack  and  was  about 
to  leave  the  office,  when  there  came  a  slight  rap  at 
the  door. 


272  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Come  in,"  he  called. 

The  door  opened  and  two  brown-clad  trusties  en- 
tered and  came  to  attention.  One  of  them  saluted 
in  as  soldierly  a  fashion  as  the  most  exacting  mar- 
tinet could  have  wished.  The  other  made  a  very 
poor  showing,  but  Duryea  was  not  in  a  critical  mood. 
Each  of  the  prisoners  was  carrying  several  old 
cloths  in  his  hand. 

"Gee!  Here's  two  of  'em  now — made  to  order?" 
chuckled  the  secretary,  to  himself. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want!"  he  questioned,  return- 
ing the  salute. 

"Mr.  McCabe  ordered  us  to  polish  the  desk,  sir," 
replied  the  taller  of  the  two,  who  wore  the  number 
515  upon  his  breast. 

"The  devil  he  did!  What's  struck  McCabe,  all 
of  a  sudden !  This  is  some  bad  day  to  butt  into  this 
office,  but  you  can  work  until  the  Major  comes  back. 
Get  busy  now,  and  be  mighty  careful  not  to  scratch 
the  mahogany.  The  warden '11  have  you  strung  up 
by  the  thumbs  if  you  damage  the  desk.  He's  some 
in  love  with  it. ' ' 

The  convict  who  had  answered  the  secretary's 
question  smiled  a  little  and  his  companion  grinned 
broadly  at  the  implied  savagery  of  the  warden. 

The  secretary  made  no  comment,  but  he  was  in- 
wardly amused  by  the  trusties'  evident  understand- 
ing of  the  Major's  humane  peculiarities. 

"Don't  let  any  green  moss  grow  between  your 
fingers,  boys,"  said  Duryea,  as  he  departed.  "The 
warden  won 't  stand  for  any  crossed  wires  in  his  of- 
fice, and  he'll  not  be  gone  very  long.  If  any  visitors 
come  in  that  don 't  look  phony,  hunt  me  up.  I  '11  be  at 
the  chief  deputy's  office.  You  can  jolly  the  oreide 


A  EEVELATION  AND  A  CALLER      273 

ones,  anyway  you  like,  so  long  as  you  are  polite  to 
them — and  don't  bother  me." 

The  prisoners  saluted  and  immediately  set  to  work 
at  the  desk.  They  had  worked  on  in  silence  for  some 
moments,  when  the  shorter  of  the  two  men  suddenly 
stopped  rubbing. 

"Say,  Pal,  how'd  youse  git  de  soft  snap?" 

"Soft  snap?  I  don't  quite  understand,  Stubby," 
replied  his  co-worker. 

Pete  Johnson,  alias  "Stubby,"  officially  labeled 
611,  waved  his  polishing  cloth  and  said  impatiently: 

"Oh,  hell!  Cut  out  de  guff!  Youse  knows  what 
I  mean.  Dis  pull — dis  trusty  business — an'  de  rags? 
D'ye  git  me?" 

No.  515  evidently  was  puzzled. 

"Pull?  W— why,  I  really  don't  know  that  I  had 
any  pull.  The  chief  deputy  warden,  Mr.  McCabe, 
told  me  I'd  been  made  a  trusty.  That's  all  I  know 
about  it." 

'  *  De  hell  ye  say !   An '  youse  didn  't  have  no  pull  ? ' ' 

"Not  that  I'm  aware  of." 

"Straight  goods?" 

"Straight  as  a  plumb  line,  Stubby,"  laughed  the 
other. 

Stubby  glared  at  his  companion  in  astonishment. 

"Sufferm'  Mike!  Will  ye  listen  to  dat!  Youse 
must  ha'  made  one  hell  of  a  hit  wit  de  old  man. 
Guess  he  must  ha'  got  onto  yer  eddication."  The 
convict  grinned  and  threw  out  his  chest.  "Reckon 
he  likes  ter  have  us  eddicated  guys  'round  him." 

No  515  smiled  indulgently. 

"Then  we're  pretty  solid  with  the  warden,  eh, 
Stubby?" 

"Surest  t'ing  ye  know,"  chuckled  Stubby,  sagely 


274  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

nodding  his  head.  "But  I'm  t'inkin'  dat  de  gang 
down  in  little  old  Noo  York  had  more  to  do  wit  my 
gittin  dis  snap  dan  my  eddication  did." 

"The  gang!"  exclaimed  515. 

"Sure— de  gang.  D'  youse  know  how  I  happened 
ter  git  collared!  'Twuzn't  no  damned  bull  did  it, 
youse  can  betcher  life  on  that.  There  was  one  o' 
dem — what  de  papers  calls  carnivals  o'  crime'  goin' 
on;"  he  grinned  reminiscently,  "an'  I  was  doin'  me 
share  p'  de  stick-ups.  Everybody  was  a  howlin'  at 
de  police,  an'  dey  just  had  ter  make  good.  Well,  de 
front  office  rounds  up  some  o '  de  big  crooks  an '  tells 
'em  dat  de  p'lice  is-  in  Dutch  wit  de  public,  an'  has 
ter  come  to  de  front — an'  do  it  quick.  See?  De 
crooks  knows  what  dat  means — it  means  dat  dey  has 
ter  git  somebody  collared  to  save  de  faces  o'  de 
boss  bulls  an '  de  main  squeeze  at  de  City  Hall. ' ' 

Stubby's  face  reflected  pride  of  accomplishment. 

"I'd  pulled  off  a  big  stick-up  in  Brooklyn  a  few 
nights  before,"  he  continued,  "an'  de  papers  was  a 
raisin'  merry  hell — an'  no  names  mentioned  but  de 
bulls'." 

The  convict's  expression  grew  unpleasant  to  look 
upon  as  he  went  on : 

"Well,  de  gang  plays  dat  it's  up  ter  me  dis  time, 
ter  be  de  fall-guy.  A  pal  o '  mine  puts  me  wise,  an ' 
I  lamms,  but  dey  chases  me  clear  ter  Buffalo,  catches 
me  in  a  dump  up  dere  an'  beats  me  up  good  an' 
plenty — gives  me  all  dat's  comin',  from  brass  knucks 
ter  de  boots.  Den  de  gang  raps  me  ter  de  bulls  in 
old  Buff,"  he  snarled  savagely,  "an'  dey  collars  me 
an'  telegraphs  ter  de  main  front-office  squeeze  in 
Noo  York  an'  puts  him  next.  The  big  squeeze  down 
dere  sends  a  couple  o'  bulls  from  Central  after  me, 
takes  me  back,  chucks  me  inter  de  Tombs  an'  puts 
me  troo  de  mill.  De  beak  was  onto  his  job  an'  gives 


A  EEVELATION  AND  A  CALLER      275 

it  to  me  light.  I  only  gits  five  years.  After  I  gits 
in  stir,  de  gang  an'  de  front  office  gits  busy  an'  has 
me  put  on  as  a  trusty.  See ! ' '  He  laughed  raucous- 
ly. "'Trusty!'  Dat's  a  joke,  as  dey'll  find  out,  if 
ever  I  gits  half  a  chanst. ' ' 

During  Stubby's  recital  of  his  experiences,  515 
gazed  at  him  in  open-mouthed  astonishment. 

"  What !"  he  exclaimed,  "Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
you  were  sacrificed  by  your  pals  to  save  the  reputa- 
tion of  the  police  ? ' ' 

"Sure,  Mike!  Dat's  part  o'  de  bizness.  It's  a 
case  o'  youse  tickle  me  an'  I'll  tickle  youse." 

"It  was  pretty  rough  on  you,  Stubby." 

"Bah!  Rough  nuttin';  it's  part  o'  de  game,  I  tell 
ye, ' '  Stubby  snorted  contemptuously.  ' '  Youse  don 't 
s  'pose  I  'm  a  goin '  ter  stay  in  stir,  do  ye  ?  Not  unless 
de  gang  an'  de  p 'lice  has  lost  dere  pull  wit  Tammany. 
I'll  be  on  dis  trusty  job  a  tastin'  de  sweets  o'  honest 
labor,  as  de  Bible  sharps  sez,  fer  about  six  months 
more — an'  den  dem  gates  out  yonder '11  open  just  like 
dat  door  in  de  fairy  book,  an'  don't  youse  fergit  it. 
An '  it  won 't  never  be  my  turn  to  be  de  fall-guy  agin — 
not  no  more.  An'  de  gang  better  not  make  no  mis- 
takes in  drawin'  de  numbers,  neither.  See?"  His 
eyes  gleamed  ominously  and  his  jaw  hardened. 

"What  a  horrible  system!"  exclaimed  515. 

"Is dat so?  D 'youse  t'ink  dat  de  system 

dat  put  youse  here  has  got  anyt'ing  on  it?" 

No.  515  looked  at  his  fellow  prisoner  in  wide-eyed 
bewilderment. 

"System!"  he  exclaimed," — system  that  put  me 
here!"  He  grasped  Stubby  by  the  arm.  "What  on 
earth  do  you  mean,  Stubby?" 

"See  here,  old  pal,  youse  is  in  fer  murder,  ain't 
ye?" 

"Yes,  for  a  murder  I  never  committed." 


276  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Ah,  chee !  Fergit  it !  Don 't  try  to  git  by  wid  any 
o '  dat  bull-con !  Dat  's  what  dey  all  say — all  but  de 
crooks.  De  lily-white  gents  an*  de  bums  is  always 
innercent. ' ' 

"But  it  is  the  God's  truth,  Stubby,  I  am  innoc- 
ent!" insisted  515,  earnestly. 

Stubby  shrugged  his  powerful  shoulders. 

"All  right.  Bo;  s'pose  we  let  it  go  at  dat.  But 
youse  is  in  stir  all  de  same,  ain  't  ye  ?  " 

"Obviously." 

"It's  a  cinch,  ain 'tit?" 

"Admitted." 

"An'  d'  youse  know  what  put  ye  in  stir?" 

"Yes — the  evidence  of  an  infernal  fool  of  a  union 
labor  agitator,  who  was  so  excited  he  couldn't  tell 
a  hawk  from  a  hand-saw,  and  a  lot  of  crazy,  drunken 
Italians  who  would  have  testified  against  their  own 
mothers,  if  the  suggestion  had  been  made  to  them ! ' ' 

No.  611  laughed  derisively. 

"Say,  pal,  but  youse  is  an  easy  mark!  De  bum- 
mest  lawyer  dat  ever  hangs  out  in  a  p'lice  court, 
could  ha'  got  youse  off,  if  dere  hadn't  been  somethin' 
behind  dat  case. ' ' 

No.  515  crumpled  his  polishing  cloth  in  both  hands 
and  threw  it  violently  to  the  floor. 

* '  Something  behind  it ! ' ' 

"Yes,  dat's  what  I  said — somethin'  behind  it." 

"Come  out  in  the  open,  Stubby!"  commanded  515, 
sternly,  grasping  him  violently  by  the  shoulder. 
"Come,  show  your  hand.  What  have  you  got  up 
your  sleeve?" 

Stubby  winced,  but  ejaculated  admiringly: 

"Say,  pal,  I'd  like  ter  have  youse  fer  a  pardner. 
Dat  grip  o'  yours  is  a  bird!  Did  youse  ever — " 


A  REVELATION  AND  A  CALLER      277 

"Never  mind  that,  now,"  interrupted  515,  releas- 
ing Stubby's  shoulder.  "Tell  me  what  you're  driv- 
ing at,  man.  We  haven't  much  time  for  riddles." 

"All  right — it's  a  bet!  Youse  is  wakin'  up,"  ex- 
claimed Stubby.  "Yer  monicker's  Parkyn,  ain't 
it?" 

No.  515  was  so  astonished  that  he  actually  jumped. 

"Yes,  but  how  did  you—!" 

"Oh,  I  know  dat,  de  same  as  I  knows  a  hull  lot 
more  about  youse  dat  youse  don 't  know  about  yerself . 
See,  here,  Bo,  just  ter  show  ye  how  much  more  a  guy 
like  me  knows  dan  youse  eddicated  stiffs,  I'll  tefil 
ye  what  happened  ter  mamma's  little  darlin'  boy. 
Youse  got  inter  a  mixup  wit  some  Guineas,  didn't 
ye?  Reg'lar  rough-house,  wit  rods  a  poppin'  an' 
chives  a  slashin'  an'  stabbin'  ter  beat  hell.  Am  I 
wise,  hey?" 

"Yes,  I  tried  to  stop  them  from  fighting." 

"An'  got  what  was  comin'  to  ye,  just  what  any 
guy  always  gits  when  he  sticks  his  bill  inter  other 
folks'  bizness." 

"We  won't  discuss,  that  point,  Stubby." 

"Better  not,  pal,  I  got  youse  there.  Well,  d 'youse 
remember  one  o'  de  guys  in  dat  racket  wuz  a  Mick?" 

"Yes,  the  fellow  of  whom  I  spoke,  a  new  man 
named  O'Connor.  He  joined  the  gang  just  before 
the  strike,  and  made  a  business  of  stirring  up  trou- 
ble among  the  men.  That's  why  I  suspected  him  of 
being  a  union  agitator." 

"He  butted  in  an'  tried  to  help  youse,  didn't  he?" 
queried  Stubby,  with  a  knowing  leer. 

"Yes,  but  my  opinion  is  that  he  went  into  the 
fight  on  Donnybrook  Fair  principles,  and  was  too 
drunk  to  know  much  of  what  happened  afterward." 


278  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Stubby's  frame  shook  with  merriment,  and  he 
laughed  so  boisterously  that  515  glanced  in  alarm  at 
the  open  door  and  windows  left  ajar  by  Duryea. 

"S— sh!    Stubby!    Don't  forget  the  stoneyard!" 

"Righto!  IVe  got  ye,"  grinned  611,  rubbing  his 
back  in  painful  recollection.  He  mockingly  con- 
tinued in  a  lower  tone :  "0  'Connor  drunk !  For  de 
love  o '  Mike !  Wouldn  't  dat  cook  y e  f " 

Stubby's  face  was  purplish-red  with  suppressed 
emotion.  He  almost  exploded  again,  but  recalling 
his  companion 's  hint  of  the  stone-yard,  checked  him- 
self. 

"Say,  Pal,  did  youse  ever  hear  o'  Bull  Hennessy?" 

"Of  course.  He's  one  of  the  Tammany  ward 
bosses  in  lower  New  York.  He  contracts  for  nearly 
all  the  labor  on  the  New  York  Central.  He  supplied 
the  men  for  the  job  I  was  superintending  when — " 

1 '  Sure,  you  're  wise, ' '  interrupted  Stubby.  ' '  Well, 
Bull  don't  like  you  any  too  much — not  so  well  as  his 
frail  does,  eh?" 

"His  frail?" 

"Sure,"  replied  Stubby,  impatiently," his  skoit — 
his  goil,  Jack  Halloran's  daughter." 

No.  515  gazed  at  him  in  amazement  for  a  moment 
and  then  blazed  with  indignation. 

"His  girl!  Halloran's  daughter?  Not  only  is 
Hennessy  a  confounded  fool,  but  I  was  merely  cour- 
teous and  friendly  to  Miss  Halloran.  She — " 

His  innate  chivalry  came  to  the  fore.  A  woman 's 
heart  must  not  be  laid  bare,  least  of  all,  to  a  convict 
— and  by  another  convict. 

"And  so  far  as  I  know,"  he  continued,  "the  young 
woman  was  not  especially  interested  in  me.  Hen- 
nessy was  jealous  without  reason — even  if  he  had 
any  claim  on  the  girl,  which  I  very  much  doubt. ' ' 


A  REVELATION  AND  A  CALLEE      279 

"Gee!  but  youse  has  got  bum  lamps!  We'll  let 
your  side  of  it  go  at  dat,  but,  all  de  same,  you  looked 
like  de  goods  to  de  goil,  an'  Bull  gits  onto  it.  He 
ain't  no  bute  himself,  so  he  guesses  de  rest." 

"Yes,  but  granting  that  all  you  say  is  true,  what 
has  that  to  do  with  the  case?" 

' '  Say,  Cull,  but  youse  is  easy — easy  as  stickin '  up 
a  lush!  You  sure  ought  ter  see  a  ockerlist  an'  git 
them  lamps  tinkered.  Youse  is  blinked  on  both  sides, 
an'  it's  a  shame  to  keep  youse  in  de  pit.  I'll  be 
gittin'  cold  feet  in  a  minute,  an'  throw  up  the  job  o' 
rappin'.  I  ain't  stuck  on  it  nohow,  an'  dunno  how 
de  hell  I  ever  gits  started  wit  it." 

"Go  on,  Stubby,  I'm  listening." 

'  *  Yes,  wit  yer  feet !  Yer  listeners  is  like  yer  lamps, 
dey  needs  a  speshulist.  I'll  go  on  spielen'  all  right, 
if  youse  '11  wake  up,  but  it 's  a  pipe  dat  youse  '11  need  a 
diagram. ' ' 

"Go  on,  man,  go  on!"  urged  515  eagerly,  "I'll 
stand  for  the  diagram. ' ' 

" Youse 'd  git  what's  comin'  te  ye,  if  I'd  leave  ye 
up  in  de  air.  Blokes  like  youse  gives  me  a  pain. 
Ye  reads  so  many  books  dat  ye  don 't  know  nuttin '. ' ' 
By  way  of  impressing  this  point,  Stubby  curiously 
inspected  his  fellow  trusty,  as  though  he  were  a 
menagerie  exhibit. 

"Well,"  he  went  on,  condescendingly,  "I  don't 
s'pose  youse  is  ter  blame  fer  not  catchin'  on  quick; 
it's  de  way  youse  is  brung  up,  so  I'll  go  on  rappin'. 
Ye  got  up  against  a  frame-up,  good  an'  plenty. 
O'Connor's  real  monicker  is  Butch  Harris,  an'  he's 
as  English  as  any  crook  what  ever  landed  on  Man- 
hattan Island.  He's  a  strong-arm  guy,  an'  a  peach 
at  de  bizness.  Bull  Hennessy  put  him  on  dat  con- 
struction job  ter  cook  youse.  See?  He  was  goin' 


280  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

ter  croak  ye,  some  night,  in  de  reg'lar  way,  an'  trim 
ye  inter  de  wet,  but  dat  strike  comes  on,  an'  he 
frames  up  somethin'  safer." 

"Good  God,  Stubby,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that—" 

Stubby's  sensibilities  plainly  were  ruffled. 

"Youse  heard  me  whisperin',  didn't  ye?  What 
d'ye  think  I'm  doin',  stallin'  ye!" 

' '  But,  man !  how  did  you  learn  all  this  ! ' ' 

"Dat's  part  o'  me  system,  Cull.  I  gits  dat  dope 
by  de  underground,  just  before  I  gits  it  in  de  neck 
from  de  gang." 

A  glad  light  shone  in  515 's  eyes.  He  fervently 
grasped  both  of  Stubby's  hands  in  his  own. 

' '  Thank  God !  I  shall  be  free  at  last,  Stubby !  I'll 
be  grateful  to  you  as  long  as  I  live !  You  're  a  friend 
in  need — the  best  friend  I  ever  had ! ' ' 

"S — sh!  Cheese  it,  ye  bloody  lobster!  Not  so 
loud!  Bemember  dat  stoneyard  youse  was  spielin' 
about!  An'  let  go  o'  me  mitts — I  might  need  dem 
old  lunch  hooks  ter  reach  f er  hand-outs,  some  day. ' ' 

No.  515  released  Stubby's  hands  and  went  on  in  a 
lower  tone.  "We'll  lay  the  matter  before  the  war- 
den, and  with  the  evidence  you  can  assist  me  in  get- 
ting, I'll—" 

* '  Oh,  will  ye  ?  "  Stubby  broke  in.  ' '  I— guess— nit ! 
An'  say,  Bo,  cut  out  dat  friendship  bizness.  Dere 
ain't  goin'  ter  be  no  evidence — Savvy!" 

This  staggered  No.  515. 

W — what !"  he  stammered,  huskily,  "Do  you  mean 
that  you  will  refuse  to — " 

"Wakin'  up,  ain't  ye,  old  pal?"  interrupted  Stub- 
by, affecting  admiration.  "Gittin'  wise  ter  little 
Petey,  eh,  Cull !  You  '11  be  one  o '  dem  mind-readin ' 
sharps  yet,  if  ye  don't  watch  out.  I  ain't  givin' 


A  EEVELATION  AND  A  CALLEE      281 

nuttin'  away  ter  nobody.  See?  I've  rapped  ter 
youse,  an '  dat  's  me  limit. ' ' 

No.  515  was  fairly  trembling  with  excitement.  He 
laid  his  hand  on  Stubby's  shoulder  and  looked  ap- 
pealingly  into  his  cunning  eyes. 

"And  you'll  allow  me  to  remain  in  prison,  when 
a  word  from  you  would  clear  me?  My  God,  man — 
are  you  not  human  ? ' ' 

"Nah,  I  ain't  human,"  growled  Stubby,  irritably, 
throwing  off  the  other's  hand.  "I'm  a  crook,  dat's 
all.  D'  youse  git  dat?  What  de  bloody  hell  did 
youse,  or  your  kind,  ever  do  fer  me  or  my  kind,  hey? 
We  lives  on  youse  guys — an'  youse  does  de  best  ye 
can  ter  put  us  away!  Who  builds  de  jails  an'  de 
scaffolds,  an'  hires  lawyers,  an'  bulls,  an'  beaks  ter 
feed  'em  an'  keep  'em  full?  Youse  an'  your  kind! 
Help  youse?  Not  on  yer  damned  life !" 

"Very  well,"  said  515,  indignantly,  "I'll  take  the 
matter  up  with  the  warden,  and  he  will — " 

"Youse  an'  de  warden '11  play  hell! — I — don't — 
t'ink,"  interjected  Stubby,  with  a  sneer.  "My 
word's  as  good  as  yours,  an'  a  damned  sight  better, 
youse  can  gamble  on  dat.  One  jail  bird's  as  good 
as  anudder — only  he  ain't.  A  system's  a  system, 
an'  a  pull's  a  pull,  when  we  gits  down  ter  cases. 
Don't  let  dat  git  by  youse — me  system  an'  me  pull!" 

"Would  it  mean  nothing  to  you  to  help  an  inno- 
cent man  get  his  liberty,"  pleaded  515,  earnestly. 
1 '  Man !  Man !  Think  what  freedom  would  mean  to 
me!" 

"Yes,  I'm  t'inkin'  what  it'd  mean  to  youse,  but 
I'm  t'inkin'  a  damned  sight  harder  what  yer  free- 
dom 'd  mean  ter  me,  Cull,"  Stubby  went  on,  obsti- 
nately. "D'ye  know  where  I'd  git  off?  Of  course 
ye  don't,  so  I'll  put  youse  wise.  I  wants  ter  do  biz- 


282  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

ness  in  de  little  ole  town  o'  Noo  York,  an'  if  I  raps 
on  Bull  Hennessy  I'm  as  good  as  croaked.  D'ye 
know  what  happens  to  a  snitch!  He  lasts  about  as 
long  as  a  dish  o'  snow  in  de  devil's  kitchen!  He's 
cooked  so  damned  quick  dat  it  makes  death  by  light- 
nin'  look  like  creepin'  paralysis!  Charity  begins 
ter  home,  old  sox ! ' ' 

The  convict  paused  as  if  to  let  his  speech  sink  in. 

"An*  dere's  somethin'  else  dat  I  might  as  well 
wise  ye  up  ter.  Butch  Harris  an'  me  is  old  pals,  an' 
I  ain't  goin'  ter  trow  him  down.  See?  Why,  dat 
guy  gits  hooked  up  wit  me  inside  of  a  week  after 
he  lands  in  Noo  York,  an'  we  fights  fer  de  middle- 
weight champeenship  o'  de  Bowery." 

The  ex-pug  grinned  crookedly  as  he  recalled  the 
strenuous  beginning  of  his  friendship  with  the 
Strangler. 

"Say,  but  dat  was  a  peach  of  a  go,  an'  don't  youse 
fergit  it !  Sixteen  rounds  to  a  draw  an'  a  split  purse 
— an'  I  gits  a  split  lip  an'  dis  tin  ear,"  and  Stubby 
laid  his  finger  tenderly  on  his  deformed  auricle. 

No.  515  began  to  comprehend  the  hopelessness  of 
the  situation.  He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and 
quivered  with  conflicting  emotions. 

"Say,  Cull,"  said  Stubby,  reprovingly,  with  sud- 
den inspiration,  "what  in  hell  are  youse  beefin' 
about,,  anyhow?  A  live  bird  in  jail  is  wort'  a 
t'ousand  o'  dese  society  lobsters  dead  outside !  Youse 
might  ha'  got  dis,"  and  he  made  a  motion  with  his 
hand  as  if  to  choke  himself,  "wit  a  perfectly  nice, 
good  little  knot  under  yer  left  ear!  De  stir  sure 
ain't  no  Fift'  Av'noo  hotel,"  he  continued  consoling- 
ly, "but  it  beats  a  block  o'  ice,  an'  a  nice,  cold,  white 
slab  in  de  morgue  ter  hell  an'  gone.  Maybe  youse '11 
git  a  pull,  yerself,  someday.  A  pull's  wort'  some- 


A  EEVELATION  AND  A  CALLEE      283 

thin'  in  de  stir,  but  it  ain't  wort'  two  whoops  in  hell 
in  de  bone-yard.  Savvy  ? ' ' 

No.  515  dropped  his  hands  from  his  face  and  made 
a  last  desperate  effort  to  move  the  inflexible  Stubby, 
pleading  his  cause  with  eloquence  and  emotion  which 
would  have  stirred  the  very  soul  of  a  less  stolid  lis- 
tener. 

* '  There 's  a  poor,  widowed,  broken-hearted  old  wo- 
man in  New  York,  Stubby,  who  is  dying  by  inches, 
of  grief  and  lack  of  care,  because  her  boy,  her  only 
child,  is  locked  up  in  Sing  Sing  for  a  crime  of  which 
he  is  as  innocent  as  a  babe !  Won't  you  do  your  part 
to  save  her?  Won't  you  help  to  send  her  boy  home 
to  her?  Kemember,  Stubby,  I  am  all  she  has  in  the 
world.  She  needs  me — great  God  in  heaven,  man! 
how  she  needs  me!  Come,  be  human!  You  can 
square  yourself  for  everything  you  ever  have  done 
that  was  evil,  by  just  this  one  kind  act." 

While  515  was  thus  pleading,  Stubby's  eyes  flashed 
with  admiration  for  the  other's  eloquence,  but  he 
showed  not  the  least  sign  of  relenting;  on  the  con- 
trary, his  jaw  set  more  truculently  than  ever. 

"Say  ole  pal,  youse  oughter  be  on  de  stage  at 
Wallacks!  Booth  an'  McCullough,  nor  none  o'  dem 
actor  guys,  ain  't  got  nuttin '  on  youse.  But, ' '  he  con- 
tinued, resentfully,  "dat  mellerdrammer  stuff  don't 
fit  youse  nuttin'  off 'n  me.  Guess  yer  poor  old  mud- 
er  is  yer  last  card,  what?" 

"Poor  old  mudder,  eh?"  and  he  chuckled  sardon- 
ically. "Poor — old — mudder !"  he  mocked.  De  best 
I  ever  gits  out  o'  mine  wuz  a  bat  in  de  jaw !  Happy 
days!  Nit!  Don't  youse  ever  pull  dat  old  mudder 
gag  on  a  Bowery  boy — not  no  more,  'cause  it  won't 
make  a  hit  wit  him — won't  never  git  youse  nuttin', 
nohow.  See  ? ' ' 


284  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  say;  anything  I  can  do!" 
entreated  515. 

"Nnttin,  dpin',  Cull;  nuttin'  doin>.    S— sh!" 

A  gruff  voice  was  heard  in  the  hall. 

"Cheese  it,  Bo !"  exclaimed  Stubby,  "Get  a  wiggle 
on!  Here  comes  McCabe!" 

Both  men  grabbed  their  cloths  and  set  to  work 
with  a  will,  rubbing  away  at  the  desk  as  if  their  very 
lives  depended  upon  the  rapidity  with  which  they 
accomplished  their  task. 

McCabe  appeared  in  the  door  and  stood  eyeing 
them  suspiciously  for  a  moment. 

"Here,  you  fellows!"  he  called  to  them  sternly, 
"how  long  does  it  take  ye  to  polish  a  desk?  What 
the  devil  are  you  two  dubs  tryin'  to  do,  take  the 
skin  off 'nit!" 

No.  515  came  to  attention.  His  companion  straight- 
ened up  after  a  fashion,  admiringly  looked  at  his 
work,  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur,  and  awkwardly 
saluted. 

"It's  all  done,  sir,"  he  said.  "Fine  job,  too!" 
He  turned  to  515.  "Ain't  it.  Pal!" 

"Never  mind  expert  opinions,"  said  the  chief 
deputy,  gruffly.  "No.  611,  ye 're  wanted  in  the  gar- 
den. Get  a  move  on  ye,  now ! ' '  McCabe  eyed  Stub- 
by sharply  as  he  slouched  out  of  the  office  with  the 
characteristic  hang-dog  prison  gait — which  always 
is  unconsciously  exaggerated  under  official  scrutiny. 

The  officer  went  to  the  desk  and  critically  inspect- 
ed it. 

"That's  a  hell  of  a  job!"  he  sneered,  to  515. 
There's  been  too  much  gab  goin'  on  here — an'  too 
little  elbow  grease.  Get  busy  now,  my  man,  an'  fin- 
ish that  desk  right.  When  you  're  through  report  to 
me." 

McCabe  then  left  the  office. 


A  EEVELATION  AND  A  CALLER      285 

A  few  minutes  later  No.  515  violently  threw  his 
cloth  down  on  the  desk. 

"My  God!"  he  exclaimed,  with  all  the  bitterness 
of  just  resentment  and  injured  pride.  "To  think 
that  I  have  come  to  this.  Imprisoned — insulted — 
degraded ! — and  for  a  crime  of  which  I  am  innocent ! 
I'd  rather  die  than  longer  submit  to  it!  And  that 
probably  is  what  it  will  mean  if  I  make  a  break  for 
it.  The  best  I  am  likely  to  get  will  be  what  that 
ruffian,  Gleason,  gave  that  poor  devil  who  tried  it 
the  other  day." 

His  eyes  flashed  defiantly,  and  deep  lines  of  stern 
and  dogged  determination  appeared  in  his  face. 

"But  even  that,"  he  said,  between  his  set  teeth, 
"is  better  than  this,  and  I'm  going  to  chance  it — 
and  at  the  first  opportunity.  If  I  fail — "  His  eyes 
flashed  savagely;  "well,  they'll  never  take  me  alive! 
If  I  succeed — God  help  you,  Mr.  Bull  Hennessy ! ' ' 

His  eyes  fell  on  the  desk  and  he  caught  sight  of 
a  heavy  metal  paper-weight.  He  picked  it  up,  ex- 
amined it  critically,  and  thoughtfully  weighed  it  in 
his  hand. 

"When  the  time  arrives,"  he  muttered,  "this  may 
come  in  handy.  It's  not  much  of  a  weapon,  but  it's 
better  than  bare  hands." 

The  prisoner  was  in  the  act  of  putting  the  crude 
weapon  into  the  pocket  of  his  rough  jacket,  when  a 
heavy  step  was  heard  coming  down  the  hall  toward 
the  office.  He  hastily  pocketed  the  weight,  picked 
up  his  cloth  and  set  to  work  at  the  desk,  polishing  as 
vigorously  as  though  he  were  under  an  urgent  time 
contract  which  soon  was  to  expire.  The  footsteps 
came  nearer  and  stopped  at  the  office  door. 

"Is  the  warden  about?"  inquired  a  deep,  throaty 
voice. 

No.  515  was  startled  almost  out  of  his  presence 


286  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

of  mind.  He  would  have  known  that  pompous,  over- 
bearing voice  among  a  thousand !  Its  owner  paused 
long  enough  to  light  a  cigar  and  noisily  puff  it  into 
action,  then  stepped  into  the  room  and  towards  the 
desk. 

Ignoring  the  visitor,  the  convict,  with  deliberately 
exasperating  inattention,  went  on  with  his  polishing 
as  though  oblivious  to  everything  but  the  job  in 
hand.  He  paused  at  times  to  critically  survey 
the  shining  surface  of  the  desk,  but  did  not  look  up. 

"Say,  what  the  hell's  the  matter  with  you,  any- 
how? Are  you  deef?"  The  speaker  plainly  was 
losing  his  patience. 

The  prisoner  did  not  respond  and  the  caller 
stepped  closer. 

"See  here,  me  good  feller,"  he  said,  angrily,  be- 
tween violent  puffs  at  his  cigar,  "if  you're  not 
deef,  you're — " 

"Mighty  careful  with  whom  I  converse,  eh,  Mr. 
Bull  Hennessy?"  satirically  replied  515,  straighten- 
ing up,  throwing  the  cloth  to  the  floor  and  looking 
the  Boss  squarely  in  the  eye. 

Hennessy  fairly  gasped  at  the  man's  impudence. 
He  menacingly  clenched  his  fist,  and  leaning  over 
the  desk,  looked  closely  at  the  prisoner. 

"Oh,  ho,  me  laddie  buck!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a 
start  of  astonishment.  "So,  it's  you,  is  it, -Mr.  Bob 
Parkyn?  Why  ain't  you  out  in  the  yard  maulin' 
stone  along  with  the  rest  o'  the  jail-birds?"  he 
glowered.  "Who  the  hell  took  you  off'n  that  nice 
little  job,  anyhow?" 

No.  515  coolly  stepped  around  the  desk  and  con- 
fronted Hennessy. 

"None  of  your  business,  Hennessy!" 

"I'll  make  it  my  business,  damned  quick,  when  I 


A  REVELATION  AND  A  CALLER      287 

see  the  warden!"  raged  the  Boss,  starting  for  the 
door. 

The  prisoner  intercepted  him,  and  Hennessy  ap- 
peared somewhat  disturbed. 

" What's  your  hurry,  Bull?  You're  not  quite  so 
bold  when  you're  cornered,  are  you?  You're  a 
game  chicken  outside,  with  your  gang  of  thugs  be- 
hind you — gamer  still,  when  you  have  somebody  to 
do  your  fighting  for  you !  The  yellow  streak  is  on 
top,  just  now,  isn't  it,  you  hound?"  said  the  convict, 
taking  a  step  towards  the  Boss,  who  moved  back  a 
pace. 

Hennessy  was  purple  with  rage,  but  percepti- 
bly alarmed.  He  was  "dead  up  against  it."  Here 
was  a  quality  of  courage  new  to  him,  and  it  was  a 
facer  for  the  bully.  He  was  used  to  men  who  weak- 
ened and  cringed  before  the  wrath  of  the  mighty 
Boss — men  who  bowed  the  knee  to  his  every  whim. 
He  knew  how  to  handle  such  men.  But  here  was  a 
man  in  prison,  a  jail-bird  in  his  cage,  who  was  not 
afraid  of  him — of  him,  the  redoubtable  Bull  Hen- 
nessy, with  a  famous  record  of  glove  fights,  battles 
with  "bare  knucks,"  rough-and-tumble  scraps  and 
gun-plays  galore ! 

Yes,  this  was  different,  quite!  Who  ever  heard 
of  a  jail-bird  with  a  moral  kick  in  him?  Yet 
here  was  one  who,  though  handicapped  by  every  pos- 
sible disadvantage,  faced  him  with  high  and  indom- 
itable spirit  and  quailed  not  before  his  mighty 
frown  nor  trembled  at  his  throaty  bluster!  What 
was  more,  and  this  really  was  incredible,  this  con- 
vict actually  threatened  him ;  threatened  the  unchal- 
lenged king  of  the  most  desperate  elements  of  the 
underworld  of  the  great  metropolis;  threatened  the 
great  Boss  Hennessy,  who  was  feared,  not  only  by 


288  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

the  social  dregs  of  the  underworld,  but  by  the  social 
scum — the  aristocratic  crooks  and  grafters  of  the 
upperworld — and  by  the  "men  higher  up"  in  the 
world  of  politics  and  municipal  administration. 

Bull  Hennessy  was  "buffaloed  for  fair!"  Deep 
down  in  his  coarse  brutal  heart,  he  had  the  tinge  of 
ochre  common  to  most  of  his  kind.  He  always  had 
been  a  living  bluff — he  himself  always  knew  it. 

Nobody  ever  recognized  the  "yellow  streak"  in  a 
man  quicker  than  did  Hennessy  himself.  And  this 
man  in  the  garb  of  infamy,  immured  within  walls 
from  which,  if  he  committed  any  overt  act  of  vio- 
lence against  the  Boss,  he  could  not  escape,  had 
called  the  bluff  of  a  lifetime ! 

Hennessy  intuitively  comprehended,  also,  that  he 
was  faced,  not  only  with  a  moral  intrepidity  which 
to  him  was  a  novel  and  uncomfortable  experience 
in  man-handling,  but  with  a  physical  courage  as  well, 
which,  as  his  critical  eye  long  ago  had  recognized, 
was  backed  by  the  muscular  ability  and  science  es- 
sential to  making  good. 

When,  in  his  frame-up  with  Butch  Harris,  at  Black 
Bill's,  the  Boss  told  that  discreet  worthy  that  Bob 
Parkyn  was  a  "pipe,"  he  lied,  and  he  lied  deliberate- 
ly. He  was  a  wise  and  experienced  judge  of  fight- 
ing men  and  knew  a  tough  job  of  man-handling 
when  he  saw  it.  It  looked  as  if  somebody's  chickens 
had  come  home  to  roost,  and  Bull  Hennessy  was 
experiencing  another  new  and  especially  uncomfort- 
able sensation ;  he  felt  dreadfully  alone  in  the  war- 
den's  big  office  with  that  jail-bird. 

No.  515  took  another  menacing  step  toward  his 
enemy,  who  discreetly  stepped  back  out  of  arm  range. 

There  was  a  dangerous  glint  in  the  convict's  eyes. 

"Got  away  with  your  bluff  for  a  long  time,  didn't 


A  REVELATION  AND  A  CALLER      289 

you,  Hennessy  ?  Fine  day  for  a  call,  eh  ? "  he  sneered, 
stepping  still  closer. 

Bull  turned  his  head  and  hunched  up  his  shoulder, 
as  if  to  block  a  blow. 

"This  wouldn't  be  a  good  place  ter  take  a  punch 
at  me,  me  friend,"  he  blustered. 

No.  515  was  now  within  easy  hitting  distance  and 
clenched  his  fist  in  a  manner  most  disquieting  to  the 
Boss. 

"Wouldn't  it!"  he  gibed.  "Well,  if  my  eyes  are 
right,  I  see  a  place  that's  a  peach — just  southwest 
of  that  contemptible  mouth  of  yours,  and — it's — so 
tempting ! ' ' 

He  drew  back  his  fist  as  if  to  let  it  fly  at  Hen- 
nesy's  face.  The  Boss  side-stepped  and  made  a  mo- 
tion toward  his  hip  pocket,  but  checked  it  half  way. 

"Well,"  mocked  the  convict,  dropping  his  hands 
to  his  sides,  "why  don't  you  pull  your  gun?  Make 
a  good  bluff  while  you  are  about  it.  What's  the 
matter — afraid  you  couldn't  get  away  with  it?" 

Instantly  comprehending  that  the  prisoner  did 
not  intend  to  hit  him,  the  Boss  regained  his  assur- 
ance. 

"Get  away  with  it!"  he  said,  impudently,  "you 
betcher  life  I  could  get  away  with  it,  dead  easy ! ' ' 

"Oh,  no  you  couldn't,  Mr.  Thomas-Boss-Bull-Hen- 
nessy!"  returned  515,  contemptuously.  "You 
couldn't  get  away  with  it  any  more  than  I  could  get 
away  with  it,  if  I  gave  you  what's  coming  to  you, 
you  white-livered  cur!  It  would  be  easy  enough  to 
kill  in  self-defense,  a  poor  devil  of  a  convict — if 
there  were  not  several  persons  who  know  how  I  hap- 
pen to  be  here.  Wouldn't  be  safe  to  kill  me,  would 
it?  You're  an  infernal  rascal,  and  a  low-down  yel- 
low dog,  Hennessy,  but  you're  not  quite  a  fool." 


290  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"What  in  hell  are  you  drivin'  at?"  queried  the 
Boss,  visibly  agitated  and  actually  shriveling  under 
the  convict's  scathing  denunciation. 

No.  515  replied  with  great  deliberation,  enunci- 
ating every  word  with  a  distinctness  that  grated 
painfully  upon  Mr.  Hennessy's  now  acutely  sensi- 
tive ear. 

"Just  this,  Bull  Hennessy.  I'm  an  innocent  man, 
and  you  know  it.  You  jobbed  me,  you  infernal 
scoundrel !  Butch  Harris  could  tell  something  migh- 
ty interesting.  And  there  are  others  who  could  tell. 
Perhaps  they  never  will  tell,  but  that  won 't  save  you, 
Hennessy,"  and  the  convict  gave  his  enemy  a  savage 
look  that  bored  clear  through  to  the  back  of  his  thick 
head  and  for  a  moment  actually  jarred  him  out  of 
the  running. 

He  quickly  came  back,  however,  and  asked,  defi- 
antly, albeit  with  some  trepidation: 

"Well,  what  th'  hell  are  you  goin'  to  do  about  it, 
Mr.  Jail-bird?" 

The  prisoner  shook  his  fist  threateningly  under  the 
Boss 's  red  nose  and  said,  with  deliberate  emphasis : 

"I'm — going — to  get — my — freedom, — Bull  Hen- 
nesy!  I  don't  know  how,  nor  when,  but  I'll  get  it. 
Then  I  'm  going  to  find  you,  my  friend,  and  give  you 
a  chance  to  call  me  a  jail-bird  again — just  once — 
and  that's  the  only  chance  you'll  ever  get,  Mr. 
Thomas-Boss-Bull-Crook-Hennessy !  You  can  guess 
the  rest." 

Hennessy  pulled  himself  together,  threw  his  stub 
out  of  the  window,  laughed  derisively  and  lighted 
a  fresh  cigar. 

"But  ye 're  not  out  yet,  me  brave  buster,  an'  I'll 
take  damned  good  care  that  ye  don't  git  out!  An' 
I'm  goin'  to  take  better  care  o'  yer  health,  too.  It's 


A  REVELATION  AND  A  CALLER      291 

a  shame  fer  ye  t'  be  cooped  up  like  you  are.  Ye 
need  more  exercise,  an'  I'll  see  that  ye  git  it.  It's 
wrong  for  an  athlete  like  you  t'  git  out  o'  trainin' 
an'  let  his  muscle  go  all  t'  the  bad.  I'll  speak  ter 
the  main  screw  about  it. ' '  He  paused  as  if  reflecting, 
and  then  went  on,  "Now  the  stone-yard  would — " 

" Blaze  away,  you  dirty  thug!"  No.  515  broke  in, 
contemptuously.  "If  I'm  sent  back  to  the  stone- 
yard,  my  conscience  won't  hurt  me  so  much  if  I 
ever  make  my  get-away  and  pay  my  debts."  He 
again  shook  his  fist  in  the  Boss's  face.  "And  you're 
right  about  the  muscles — I'll  need  them  some  day, 
to  show  my  appreciation  to  my  benefactor,  one  Bull 
Hennessy. ' ' 

With  a  final  look  of  hatred  and  contempt,  No.  515 
gathered  up  his  polishing  rags  from  the  desk  and 
left  the  room.  As  he  made  his  exit,  he  fired  one 
parting  shot. 

"Do  your  worst,  you  contemptible  hound!  I'll 
owe  you  just  that  much  more  on  settlement  day. 
And  by  the  way,  Hennessy,"  he  sneered,  "try  and 
show  some  manners  when  the  warden  comes  in. 
He's  a  gentleman,  and  such  cattle  as  you  should  an- 
noy him  as  little  as  possible." 

As  the  convict  vanished,  Hennessy  heaved  a  most 
prodigious  sigh  of  relief,  relighted  his  cigar,  which 
he  had  allowed  to  die  out,  and  cheekily  sat  down  at 
the  desk,  in  the  warden's  chair. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ME.    HENNESSY   GETS    ANOTHER   JOLT 

When  Major  Donaldson  returned  to  his  office  and 
found  Boss  Hennessy  comfortably  lolling  back  in 
the  warden's  official  chair,  his  silk  hat  tipped  back 
on  his  head,  and  smoking  like  Vesuvius  in  semi-erup- 
tion, the  old  soldier  was  dumbfounded.  For  an  in- 
stant he  was  so  badly  feazed  that  he  could  not  quite 
get  his  bearings. 

Not  so  the  occupant  of  the  chair.  His  monu- 
mental nerve  never  for  a  second  forsook  him.  He 
peered  through  the  dense  clouds  of  strong  tobacco 
smoke  with  which  he  had  enveloped  himself,  and 
observing  the  Major,  patronizingly  remarked,  with- 
out rising : 

1 '  Good  mornin ',  I  s  'pose  you  're  the  warden. ' ' 

The  Major  had  to  reach  pretty  deep  down  to  catch 
his  breath. 

"I — yes,  I — I  am  the — warden,"  he  finally  man- 
aged to  gasp. 

" Thought  so,"  commented  Hennessy.  "You  sure 
look  it." 

' '  Thanks,  awfully, ' '  said  the  Ma j  or.  ' '  Would  you 
— er,  mind  taking  this  chair?"  He  pointed  to  a 
large  easy  chair  to  the  right  of  his  desk.  "You'll 
find  it  much  more  comfortable.  The  one  you  are 
occupying  is — er,  rather  stiff  and  formal — quite  of- 
ficial in  fact,  and  more  suited  to  one  of  my — er,  mod- 
est tastes." 


HENNESSY  GETS  ANOTHER  JOLT      293 

' '  Oh,  just  so,  p  'raps  it  is.  Don 't  do  f  er  the  warden 
t'  have  things  too  soft,  does  it?" 

Hennessy  laughed  at  his  own  witless  remark,  but 
the  Major's  gentle  irony  went  clear  over  his  head. 
He  dropped  into  the  proffered  easy  chair,  and  took 
several  vigorous  puffs  at  his  cigar. 

"And  won't  you  give  me  your  hat,  sir?"  said  the 
Major,  regaining  his  self-possession  and  politely 
concealing,  as  best  he  could,  his  aversion  to  the  in- 
truder. 

"Oh,  no,  that's  all  right.  I'm  not  sweatin'  any. 
What's  the  use  o'  botherin'?"  and  the  Boss  waved 
his  hand  magnanimously  at  the  warden. 

"But  I  insist,"  said  the  Major,  with  forced  cordi- 
ality. "It's  not  often  that  so  fine  a  hat  decorates 
our  rack,"  and  with  a  fine  show  of  bonhomie,  he  re- 
moved his  visitor's  head-gear. 

"It's  a  Jettson,  isn't  it?"  He  glanced  at  the 
stamp  on  the  band.  "Late  style  and  quite  expenr 
sive,  I  should  judge,"  pursued  the  warden. 

"Eight  ye  are,"  puffed  Hennessy,  proudly.  "Very 
latest,  too.  That  feller,  Jettson,  rolled  me  fer  eight 
bucks  fer  that  lid.  What  d'ye  know  about  that?" 

Hennessy  removed  the  cigar  from  his  coarse  lips 
and  held  it  ostentatiously  between  the  fingers  of  one 
hand,  while  with  the  index  finger  of  the  other  he  pro- 
ceeded noisily  to  explore  his  capacious  mouth,  evi- 
dently attempting  to  dislodge  certain  particles  of 
food  which  had  been  lingering  since  breakfast,  ap- 
parently in  the  near  vicinity  of  his  wisdom  teeth. 
The  warden  could  not  help  making  a  mental  estimate 
of  the  length  of  Hennessy 's  huge,  hairy  finger,  rela- 
tive to  the  dimensions  of  his  enormous  mouth. 

"Shall  I  get  you  a  glass  of  water?"  asked  the 


294  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Major,  politely,  endeavoring  with  indifferent  suc- 
cess to  conceal  Ms  disgust. 

' '  Oh,  no,  thanks,  not  a- tall— not  a-tall ! ' '  The  Boss 
put  up  his  hand  as  if  to  defend  himself  from  a  threat- 
ened assault.  "But  if  ye  have  any  o'  the  real  stuff, 
why—" 

"Ah,  I  see,"  said  the  Major,  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye  which  suggested  that  he  was  beginning  to  be 
amusingly  entertained.  "You  really  would  honor 
me  by  taking  a  wee  drop. ' ' 

"Make  it  a  reg'lar  sized  ball,  Warden,"  grinned 
Hennessy,  thirstily. 

The  Major  went  to  a  near-by  cabinet  and  returned 
with  a  bottle,  glasses  and  a  siphon  of  seltzer,  setting 
them  on  the  end  of  the  desk  convenient  to  his  guest 's 
hand. 

"Help  yourself,  sir,"  said  the  Major,  hospitably. 

And  the  Boss  did  "help"  himself,  covering  the 
glass  with  his  hand  to  conceal  the  fact  that  it  was  full 
to  the  brim.  He  managed  to  toss  it  off  without 
spilling  it,  a  feat  at  which  the  Major  secretly  wond- 
ered, even  if  it  did  not  inspire  him  with  admiration. 

"Seltzer?"  inquired  the  warden. 

Hennessy  again  waved  a  defensive  and  depreca- 
tory hand. 

'  *  No,  thanks.  Not  a-tall — not  a-tall.  Doc.  Loomis 
says  that  fizz  water's  bad  fer  me  kidneys.  They  gits 
on  the  bum  once  in  a  while,  an '  I  have  ter  take  good 
care  of  'em.  Carbolic — er,  I  mean  carbonic  acid's 
bad  medicine." 

The  Boss  suddenly  bethought  himself  of  the  us- 
ual bibulous  amenities  between  gentlemen. 

"Ain't  you  goin'  ter  have  a  drink,  Warden?  It's 
a  wise  Doc.  that  don't  take  his  own  medicine,  but 
that's  damn  good  stuff,  b'lieve  me!"  and  he  looked 


HENNESSY  GETS  ANOTHER  JOLT   295 

avidly  at  the  bottle.  '  *  Old  Dormitory,  I  '11  bet, ' '  and 
he  turned  the  bottle  around  so  that  he  might  inspect 
the  label.  * '  Sure,  I  thought  so, ' '  and  he  grinned  com- 
placently at  the  thought  that  he  had  made  good  as  a 
connoisseur. 

"Since  you  endorse  my  whiskey,  I  will  take  a  lit- 
tle," said  the  warden. 

"Sure,  let  her  go!  An'  I'll  join  ye,"  enthused 
Hennessy,  warmly. 

The  Major  poured  put  a  small  libation,  and  his 
guest  made  haste  to  "join"  him — with  another  spir- 
ituous bath. 

"Here's  how,  Warden." 

"Drink  hearty,  sir." 

Having  emptied  the  glass,  Hennessy  sank  back 
comfortably  in  his  chair  and  puffed  away  like  mad 
at  his  cigar,  enwreathing  himself  in  huge  clouds  of 
smoke,  which  being  wafted  in  the  Major's  direction 
by  the  breeze  from  the  open  windows,  pretty  nearly 
gave  that  dignified  person  an  asthmatic  attack. 

"Got  a  cold,  hain't  ye?"  asked  Hennessy,  solicit- 
ously. *  *  Ever  try  Dr.  Pull 's  Pulmonic  Elixir  I  It 's 
sure  great !  Knock  a  cold  out  in  the  first  round. ' ' 

The  Major  confessed  the  cold,  as  the  least  em- 
barrassing explanation  of  his  symptoms,  but  strenu- 
ously denied  ever  having  enjoyed  the  advantage  of 
Dr.  Pull's  wonderful  compound. 

He  finally  ceased  his  coughing  and  wheezing  and 
succeeded  in  drawing  a  comfortable  breath. 

"Pardon  me,  sir,"  he  remarked,  politely;  "you 
have  a  slight  advantage  over  me.  Our  introduction 
was  hardly  mutual,  Mr. " 

"Sure,  I  forgot.  Me  name's  Hennessy — Thomas 
Hennessy,  of  New  York, ' '  replied  the  Boss,  impres- 
sively. 


296  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

The  great  man  expanded  his  huge  chest,  took  a 
vigorous  puff  at  his  fat  black  cigar  and  confidently 
awaited  the  profound  and  sensational  effect  which 
his  name  usually  produced. 

The  Major  obdurately  refused  to  be  impressed. 

"Ah,  indeed?  I'm  glad  to  meet  you,  Mr. — ah, 
Shaughnessy. ' ' 

Here  was  another  new  and  disturbing  experience 
for  Hennessy.  His  face  exhibited  not  only  astonish- 
ment, but  annoyance. 

"Hennessy,"  he  reiterated,  "Thomas  Hennessy." 

"From  New  York,  I  believe  you  said,"  remarked 
the  Major,  blandly. 

The  Boss  was  distinctly  piqued. 

"Yes,  from — New — York.    Here's  me  card." 

The  warden  took  the  card  and  cursorily  glanced 
at  it,  then  looked  blankly  at  the  Boss. 

"Oh,  yes,  I've  heard  of  you,  Mr. "  He  again 

referred  to  the  bit  of  pasteboard.  "Mr. — ah,  'Hen- 
nessy— Thomas  Hennessy.'  What  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

The  Boss  now  was  thoroughly  disconcerted.  His 
assurance  temporarily  was  shed  like  a  cast-off  gar- 
ment. 

"Why — er,  ye  see,"  he  ventured,  haltingly, 
"there's  a  couple  o'  friends  o'  mine  here  in  the  pen 
an' — "  He  puffed  frantically  at  his  cigar. 

"Employes?"  asked  the  warden,  laconically. 

"Why,  no,  they're "  Hennessy  hesitated.  He 

instinctively  felt  that  he  was  "in  bad,"  and  getting 
in  deeper  every  minute. 

"Prisoners!"  suggested  the  Major,  suavely. 

"Y — yes.  Well,  ye  see,  Warden,"  floundered  the 
Boss,  "they're  not  exactly  friends  o'  mine,  but — " 


HENNESSY  GETS  ANOTHER  JOLT      297 

"I  understand,"  interrupted  the  Major.  " Friends 
of  the  party,  eh  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  that's  it.    Have  a  cigar,  Warden?" 

Hennessy  took  a  handful  of  cigars  from  his  pocket 
and  leaning  toward  the  warden  offered  them  to  him 
for  a  selection. 

"Thanks,  no.    Not  during  business  hours." 

Hennessy  dove  down  into  another  pocket  and  ex- 
tracted a  box  of  cigarettes. 

"Coffin  nail,  eh?" 

The  Major's  face  plainly  showed  that  cigarettes 
were  not  one  of  his  weaknesses. 

"I  never  smoke  cigarettes,  thank  you." 

"Me,  too,  Pete!"  exclaimed  Hennessy,  violently 
puffing  at  his  weed.  "I  only  carry  'em  for  these 
guys  who  can't  stand  real  tobacco,"  he  continued, 
confidently.  "Better  put  a  couple  o'  these  smokes 
in  yer  pocket,  they're  the  real  things,  Warden,  take 
it  from  me — straight  havanas — three  fer  a  half, 
same  as  I'm  smokin'." 

"I  shall  have  to — to  decline,  thank  you,"  labored 
the  Major,  beginning  to  wheeze  again. 

Hennessy,  to  use  an  expression  of  his  own,  was 
not  "landing  the  jolly,"  He  replaced  the  cigars  and 
cigarettes  in  his  pocket  with  an  air  of  depression 
and  discouragement. 

"Haven't  come  after  any  of  my  boarders,  I  hope, 
Mr.  Shaugh — er,  I  mean,  Hennessy?"  the  warden 
inquired,  ironically. 

The  Boss  braced  up  a  little  and  after  several  ex- 
plosive, and  to  the  Major,  suffocating  puffs,  regained 
a  little  of  his  customary  pomposity. 

"Not  a-tall— not  a- tall.  Ye  see,  Warden,  the  fel- 
lers I  spoke  of,  is  pretty  good  hustlers,  an'  the  boys 
want  ter — well,  you  know  how  it  is.  We've  kind  o' 


298  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

got  ter  take  care  of  'em.  They  ain't  very  rugged, 
an*  we'd  like  to  have  ye  give  'em  jobs  that's — you 
know. ' ' 

"Suited  to  their  strength,  eh?"  said  the  Major, 
with  blunt  sarcasm.  "Easy  places  for  men  with 

strong  pulls.  What  are  their  names,  Mr. "  He 

again  looked  at  the  visitor's  card — "Mr.  Hennes- 
sy?" 

The  Major's  sarcasm  was  completely  lost  on  the 
Boss,  who  was  fast  regaining  his  self-assurance. 

"Henry  Haggerty  and  James  Kennedy." 

The  Major  wrote  the  names  on  a  memorandum  pad 
and  turned  to  Duryea,  who,  just  a  moment  before, 
had  quietly  entered  the  office  and  returned  to  his 
desk,  unobserved  by  his  employer,  who  had  been  so 
absorbed  in  his  conversation  with  Boss  Hennessy, 
that  he  had  not  even  noticed  his  secretary's  ab- 
sence. 

"Mr.  Duryea,  kindly  look  up  the  records  of  Henry 
Haggerty  and  James  Kennedy." 

Duryea,  with  a  bustling  show  of  industry,  prompt- 
ly produced  the  records. 

"Shall  I  read  them,  sir?" 

"If  you  please,  Mr.  Duryea." 

"  'No.  710.  Henry  Haggerty,  alias  "Buck"  Hag- 
gerty, alias  "Big-mouthed  Harry,"  alias  "Hank 
Higgins,"  New  York  City.  Committed  March  1, 
1876.  Ten  years  for  criminal  assault.' 

"  'No.  727.  James  Kennedy,  alias  "Dublin  Jim," 
alias  "Bad  Jimmy,"  New  York  City.  Committed 
June  1,  1875.  Twenty  years  for  manslaughter. ' ' ' 

'  *  What  are  they  working  at  ?  " 

"Haggerty  is  in  the  chair  shop,  and  Kennedy  is 
making  brooms,  sir. ' ' 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Duryea." 


HENNESSY  GETS  ANOTHER  JOLT      299 

The  warden  turned  to  the  Boss. 

"Your  proteges  do  seem  a  little  delicate,  Mr.  Hen- 
nessy," he  said,  sarcastically.  "I  suppose  we  really 
shall  have  to  do  something  for  them." 

The  Major  took  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  the 
time,  wondering  if  Hennessy  would  take  so  delicate 
a  hint.  He  was  gratified  to  see  him  rise  from  his 
chair,  apparently  preparatory  to  leaving. 

"Then  you'll  take  care  o'  them  fellers,  will  ye, 
Warden?" 

"In  the  name  of  humanity — and  politics — yes.  Is 
there  anything  else  that  I  can  do  for  you — and  the 
boys!" 

Hennessy  failed  to  note  the  cutting  sarcasm  of  the 
warden  Is  reply. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  pompously,  "there  is  one  more 
little  matter.  I  noticed  a  feller,  a  trusty,  workin' 
round  here  in  the  office  when  I  came  in,  that  hadn't 
oughter  have  so  much  liberty.  He's  No.  515." 

"Indeed!  and  why  shouldn't  he  have  so  much 
liberty,  pray?"  asked  the  Major,  the  light  of  battle 
beginning  to  gleam  in  his  dark  eyes. 

"Oh,  he's  a  bad  egg!"  snapped  Hennessy,  "an* 
likely  t'  raise  hell,  most  any  old  time.  Better  put 
him  inter  the  stone-yard.  A  little  exercise '11  do  him 
a  lot  o' good.  See?" 

"So,  he's  a  bad  egg,  eh?  As  bad  as  Buck  Hag- 
gerty  and  Bad  Jimmy,  think?" 

This  was  a  facer  for  Hennessy.  He  was  so  non- 
plussed that  he  did  not  see  the  storm  that  was  com- 
ing. The  Major  put  in  another  satirical  thrust. 

"Are  you  not  afraid  that  the  stone-yard  may  be 
a  little  too  strenuous  for  the  man,  Mr.  Hennessy? 
It's  quite  a  bit  more  so  than  the  chair  factory  or 
the  broom  shop." 


300  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"W— why "stammered  the  Boss,  "I— well, 

don't  you  see,  it's  like  this,  I " 

"Yes,  I  see!"  said  the  Major,  slowly,  as  he  rose  to 
his  full  height,  fairly  towering  above  Hennessy — big 
as  that  worthy  was.  The  old  soldier  evidently  was 
trying  hard  to  control  his  temper  and  keep  his  dig- 
nity off  the  rocks,  but  he  was  on  the  verge  of  a 
mighty  explosion. 

"See  here,  Hennessy — you're  going  just  a  little 
too  far !  You  New  York  rough-necks  and  politicians 
can  run  this  institution  most  of  the  time,  in  spite 
of  everything  and  everybody," — here  the  veteran's 
brakes  slipped  and  things  got  going  wild — "but,  by 
the  Great  Eternal,  sir!"  he  roared,  "I'm  going  to 
run  it  part  of  the  time !  I  made  that  man  .a  trusty 
on  my  own  judgment — and  a  trusty  he  '11  remain,  so 
long  as  I  see  fit !  Understand  ? ' ' 

Now  Hennessy  could  not  quite  comprehend  the 
Major's  satirical  thrusts  and  jabs,  nor  could  he  have 
"come  back"  if  he  had.  He  was  as  slow  of  wit  as 
he  was  thick  of  neck  and  dense  of  skull.  In  his  own 
circle  he  could  exchange  repartee  with  the  best  of 
them — repartee  that  was  largely  billingsgate  and 
profanity,  with  a  dash  of  obscenity  thrown  in  by 
way  of  relish — but  the  subtle  passes  of  the  Major's 
satire  and  irony  were  too  much  for  him.  Here,  how- 
ever, he  was  in  his  element.  The  warden  had  lost 
his  temper,  and  this  gave  his  visitor  an  opening. 
The  Boss  had  enjoyed  vast  experience  in  dealing 
with  men  who  had  said  things  in  anger,  and  always 
had  been  able  to  hold  his  own.  And  so,  he  recovered 
all  his  self-confidence  and  with  it  his  unparalleled, 
brazen  impudence. 

"Oh,  ho!  me  buckaroo;  you're  goin'  ter  run  this 
dump  ter  suit  yerself,  are  ye?"  he  sneered. 


HENNESSY  GETS  ANOTHER  JOLT   301 

"You  heard  what  I  said,  sir!"  stormed  the  Major. 

"Is — that — so?"  sneered  Hennessy,  exasperating- 
ly.  "Well,  let  me  put  a  bug  in  yer  ear  and  wise  ye 
up,  Mr.  Warden.  If  ye  get  too  gay  with  me  I'll 
show  ye  that  we  can  run  this  hotel  all  o'  the  time — 
an'  don't  ye  forget  it!" 

"You  will,  eh?  Well,  until  I  turn  it  over  to  you 
contemptible  New  York  politicians  and  crooks,  I'll 
run  it  my  way!"  The  Major  actually  was  livid 
with  rage.  "Leave  my  office,  sir!"  he  stormed. 

"An'  s'pose  I  don't  pull  me  freight,  me  gay  ga- 
zabo, what  then  ? ' '  sneered  the  Boss. 

"I'll  have  you  thrown  out  of  the  office  and  kicked 
out  of  the  prison — and  I  '11  have  it  done  by  that  trusty 
whom  you  tried  to  knock!"  roared  the  Major. 

The  warden  was  in  deadly  earnest — the  Boss  could 
see  that.  He  had  met  such  persons  before  and  knew 
the  symptoms.  He  also  knew  that  the  warden  of  a 
prison,  like  the  captain  of  a  ship,  was  not  safe  to 
trifle  with.  The  Major's  authority  was  supreme, 
and  while  Hennessy  might  get  his  job  later,  this 
was  one  of  the  occasions  on  which  an  ounce  of  dis- 
cretion was  worth  a  ton  of  "pull" — past,  present 
or  future.  To  show  fight  would  be  plain  suicide,  if 
the  warden  was  disposed  to  have  it  so.  There  was 
nothing  for  Hennessy  to  do  but  to  "pull  his  freight." 

"All  right,  Bo,"  he  barked,  viciously.  "I'll  beat 
it,  but  I'll  fix  you  for  this,  damn  ye,  an'  don't  ye 
f  ergit  it ! "  He  turned  at  the  door  and  yelled  back : 
"You'll  hear  from  me  good  and  plenty  when  I  get 
back  ter  New  York — or  my  name  ain  't  Thomas  Hen- 
nessy ! ' ' 

The  Major  had  regained  his  sangfroid. 

"Thanks,"  he  replied,  urbanely,  "write  real  soon, 


302  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Mr.  Shaughnessy — er,  I  mean,  Hennessy — and  don't 
forget  to  remember  me  to  the  boys ! ' ' 

The  Boss  looked  brass  knucks,  rods  and  black- 
jacks at  the  warden  for  a  second  and  then  made  his 
exit,  relieving  his  perturbed  spirit  by  violently  slam- 
ming the  door  behind  him. 

Duryea  had  been  listening  with  the  most  intense 
interest  to  the  altercation  between  his  chief  and 
Bull  Hennessy.  As  soon  as  their  conversation 
reached  the  violent  stage  he  quietly  went  to  his  own 
desk,  opened  a  drawer  and  left  it  open.  The  loyal 
soul  shone  through  his  eyes  as  he  stood  there,  pale, 
tense,  eager,  keenly  watching  the  two  angry  men 
like  a  cat  at  a  mousehole.  He  kept  his  right  hand 
conveniently  near  the  open  drawer,  until  Hennessy 
had  slammed  the  door  behind  his  departing  wrath. 
The  tension  over,  Duryea  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  and 
with  his  handkerchief  mopped  his  brow,  on  which 
huge  globules  of  perspiration  were  shining.  He 
then  closed  the  drawer  and  locked  it. 

In  that  drawer,  peacefully  reposing  among  the 
odds  and  ends  of  stationery  and  a  lot  of  photographs 
of  his  best  girls — not  all  of  them  "best,"  perhaps, 
but  most  of  them — wa&  a  huge  Colt,  of  most  satisfy- 
ing exterior  and  grimly  efficient  caliber — ominously 
suggestive  of  a  compromise  between  a  gas  main  and 
a  railroad  tunnel. 

When,  some  months  before,  on  his  uncle's  ranch 
in  Arizona,  one  of  Duryea 's  big-hatted  friends  pre- 
sented him  with  that  gun,  the  cowboy  remarked : 

"That  ole  gun  is  shore  reliable,  son.  It  ain't  no 
dude's  pop-gun.  It'll  bore  a  hole  through  a  feller 
what  a  cat  can  jump  through  an'  never  wet  a  whis- 
ker ! ' ' — And  the  weapon  certainly  looked  the  part. 


HENNESSY  GETS  ANOTHER  JOLT   303 

"Anything  more,  sir?"  asked  the  secretary,  quiet- 
ly. 

"That  is  all,  for  the  present,  thank  you,  Howard," 
and  the  Major,  his  dignity  quite  restored,  waved  his 
hand  in  token  of  dismissal. 

The  secretary  arranged  his  papers,  closed  his 
desk,  and  with  an  affectionate  parting  glance  at  his 
chief,  left  the  room. 

"Well,"  he  chuckled  to  himself  as  he  left  the  build- 
ing and  entered  the  jail-yard,  "here's  where  little 
Bright  Eyes  gets  some  more  rest  without  stealing 
it. ' '  His  eye  roving  down  the  dreary,  stone-flagged 
enclosure,  caught  sight  of  McCabe. 

"Hello!"  he  exclaimed,  "there  goes  old  Crusty! 
Hanged  if  I  don't  go  after  him  and  see  if  I  can't 
corner  him  for  another  gab-f est  about  the  warden.  I 
like  to  hear  the  old  bear  growl." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MOEE  STAB  VISITORS 

Major  Donaldson  sat  for  some  time  at  his  desk, 
quietly  reflecting  on  his  experience  with  Hennessy. 
He  knew  that  the  Boss  had  almost  unlimited  polit- 
ical power ;  he  also  knew  that  the  fellow  was  vindic- 
tive and  revengeful.  The  obvious  inference  was  not 
pleasant  for  the  Major  to  contemplate.  Boss  Hen- 
nessy would  try  to  get  his  job,  and  as  there  was  no 
immediate  election  in  prospect,  Tammany  would  lay 
a  mine  under  the  warden's  chair  and  explode  it  at 
any  time  that  seemed  expedient  to  the  political  un- 
derground, gum-shoe-workers,  before  the  old  soldier 
element  in  politics  woke  up.  He,  himself,  might  even 
be  compelled  to  light  the  fuse  and  explode  the  mine 
under  his  own  official  seat. 

A  revolt  or  a  strike  among  the  prisoners,  a  mur- 
der, a  wholesale  "delivery,"  or  the  escape  of  a  single 
prisoner,  could  be  made  the  excuse  for  attacking 
the  warden  and,  if  none  of  these  accidents  occurred 
in  the  due  course  of  prison  events,  it  was  easy  enough 
for  interested  persons,  the  "Knights  of  the  Double 
Cross,"  to  make  them  happen.  The  politicians  con- 
trolled the  guards,  and  had  many  henchmen  among 
the  prisoners. 

It  also  was  a  very  easy  thing  to  "doctor"  the 
prison  supply  accounts.  Those  who  furnished  the 
supplies  would  be  glad  to  lend  a  hand.  In  the  few 


MORE  STAR  VISITORS  305 

months  that  he  had  been  in  office,  the  old-soldier 
warden  had  given  much  disquiet  to  the  minds,  and 
badly  demoralized  the  profits  of  these  grafters.  They 
would  be  eager  to  counter  on  him,  especially  if  they 
could  land  a  blow  on  his  pride  center  by  tarnishing 
his  reputation  for  honesty.  This  would  please  the 
contractors  and  the  men  higher  up — the  corrupt 
political  bosses  who  absorbed  the  big  graft. 

Politics  is  composed  of  about  five  per  cent  patriot- 
ism, five  per  cent  statesmanship,  ten  per  cent  ''hot 
air,"  sixty  per  cent  graft,  and  twenty  per  cent  mud. 
The  "mud"  would  be  present  in  larger  proportions, 
were  it  not  that  twenty  per  cent,  judiciously  thrown, 
is  sufficient  to  conceal  the  graft  and  blacken  the  other 
fellow's  reputation. 

The  prospective  loss  of  his  position  did  not  bother 
the  Major,  from  a  material  standpoint.  To  him,  sal- 
ary never  had  been  an  object.  He  had  taken  the 
wardenship  of  Sing  Sing  just  as  a  devout  missionary 
might  have  penetrated  the  Congo,  or  the  heart  of 
China.  His  point  of  view  differed  from  the  mission- 
ary's, it  is  true,  but  his  devotion  to  humanity  was 
not  less  sincere — and  there  are  those  who  believe 
that  aims  and  methods  such  as  his  are  more  prac- 
tical, more  logical  and  more  productive  in  results 
for  humanity's  weal  than  anything  that  ever  under- 
lay the  zeal  of  the  missionary.  But,  of  course,  all 
philanthropic  roads  "lead  to  Rome,"  even  though 
more  things  of  value  travel  by  some  roads  than  by 
others. 

It  seemed  hard  to  Major  Donaldson  that  his  work 
should  be  interfered  with  before  it  had  fairly  begun. 
He  had  hoped  to  continue  it  for  a  while,  although  he 
was  well  aware  that,  sooner  or  later,  he  would  have 
to  buck  against  the  system  and  knew  what  was  likely 


306  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

to  happen.  When  systems  are  not  stronger  than 
men — stronger  even  than  the  men  who  build  them — 
they  are  no  longer  worthy  of  being  called  "  sys- 
tems." This  is  what  makes  all  systems  dangerous 
— and  most  of  them  corrupt.  Even  the  good  one  of 
today,  may  be  the  evil  one  of  tomorrow.  The  men 
who  dominate  systems  change  from  day  to  day,  and 
sooner  or  later  cupidity  and  greed  for  power  or 
place  come  to  the  fore. 

The  Major  wished  that  he  might  be  the  entering 
wedge  of  a  new  movement  for  the  prevention  of 
crime  and  reclamation  of  criminals.  He  never  had 
expected  to  live  to  see  much  accomplished,  but  mere- 
ly hoped  to  aid  in  the  pioneer  work.  He  knew  that 
society  was  not  built  in  a  day,  and  that  our  penal 
system  was  the  product  of  centuries  upon  centuries 
of  purblind  cruelty,  ignorance,  mismanagement  and 
economic  waste.  And  now — well,  the  old  soldier 
felt  that  he  had  dreamed  his  dream  almost  to  the 
end,  and  was  about  to  be  awakened  by  being  thrown 
into  the  cold,  dirty  stream  of  political  machination 
that  has  drowned  so  many  official  opportunities. 

The  noon  whistles  of  the  prison  shops  blew  shrilly, 
the  factories  of  the  adjacent  town  joining  the  stridu- 
lent  chorus.  The  booming  and  hammering  and  me- 
tallic clanking  of  implements  and  the  hum  and  rattle 
of  machinery  abruptly  ceased.  The  Major  started 
with  surprise  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

" Twelve  o'clock!"  he  exclaimed.  "Well,  who'd 
have  thought  it?  Where's  the  morning  gone,  I 
wonder?"  He  smiled  reminiscently.  "Some  of  it, 
I  suspect,  went  with  Boss  Hennessy — and  my  job." 

"Heigho!"  he  sighed,  "Houses  of  cards  and  cas- 
tles in  Spain!  I'm  up  against  a  glass  wall.  I  can 


MOEE  STAE  VISITOES  307 

see  some  things  on  the  other  side  that  to  me  look  big 
and  grand.  But  the  wall  is  too  high  and  too  smooth 
to  climb ;  it  is  too  thick  and  too  hard  to  drill  through, 
and  a  thousand  times  longer  than  the  great  Chinese 
Wall.  My  life  will  not  last  long  enough  to  enable 
me  to  walk  around  it  and  gather  some  of  the  things 
on  the  other  side. 

"Bah!"  he  ejaculated,  pessimistically,  "I'd  bet- 
ter get  some  leather  goggles,  climb  into  the  orthodox 
social  band-wagon  and  stay  there — until  I  grow 
wings  that  will  take  me  over  that  wall."  He  lit  a 
cigar,  went  to  the  window  and  looked  down  into  the 
jail-yard. 

"Wonder  if  Hennessy  would  feel  insulted  if  he 
saw  me  smoking  during  business  hours. ' ' 

He  laughed  heartily,  as  he  recalled  the  Boss's 
1 '  real  havanas,  three  for  a  half. ' ' 

"Well,  there  haven't  been  many  star  visitors  thus 
far  today,  but  what  was  lacking  in  numbers  was 
compensated  for  in  features  of  interest  and  amuse- 
ment— not  to  say  excitement.  That  brute,  Hennessy, 
is  about  the  most  typic  specimen  of  his  class  I  ever 
saw. 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  is  back  of  his  hatred  of 
that  poor  devil,  Parkyn,"  he  mused.  "The  Boss  has 
it  in  for  that  fellow,  all  right.  I  'm  going  to  find  out 
at  the  first  opportunity  why  he  is  so  anxious  to 
persecute  him.  That  convict  looks  to  me  like  a  man 
who  will  tell  the  truth.  Murderers  usually  do — 
about  everything,  at  least,  but  their  own  crimes." 
The  Major  smiled  whimsically.  "They're  the  true 
aristocrats  of  the  world  of  crime." 

A  trusty  appeared  in  the  jail-yard  and  went  to- 
ward the  official  headquarters. 

"Hello !    There  he  is  now.    By  Jove !    He's  a  high 


308  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

stepper  when  he  thinks  nobody's  looking — appears 
like  a  gentleman,  too.  I  '11  not  forget  to  look  into  his 
case.  From  Bull  Hennessy's  actions,  I  suspect  there 
may  be  some  interesting  developments." 

The  trusty  suddenly  halted,  and  turning,  entered 
the  executive  building. 

At  the  moment  when  the  Major  first  caught  sight 
of  No.  515  passing  the  office  window,  the  trusty  was 
on  his  way  to  the  dining-room,  where  the  prisoners 
shortly  would  be  herded  for  their  mid-day  meal. 
As  he  passed  the  main  outer  building  of  the  prison, 
he  was  accosted  from  a  window  by  one  of  the  trusties 
who  acted  as  ushers  and  escorts  for  those  favored 
visitors  who  had  friends  among  the  officials,  or 
special  permits  to  make  the  tour  of  the  prison. 

The  fellow  was  hungry,  and  anxious  to  get  to  his 
dinner.  Recognizing  No.  515  as  one  of  the  warden's 
messengers,  the  usher  was  constrained  to  forego  the 
chance  of  a  tip  and  turn  over  to  him  a  likely-looking 
possibility  of  "graft."  Needless  to  say,  he  did  this 
merely  because,  in  the  affections  of  a  hungry  man, 
a  prospective  graft  could  not  successfully  compete 
with  the  smell  of  " chuck."  The  chuck  was  a  sure 
thing,  not  a  prospect,  and  when  was  even  prison 
chuck  in  the  dish,  with  the  dish  on  the  table,  to  be 
hazarded  for  two-bits  or  so  in  the  bush,  that  might 
or  might  not  materialize  ?  Let  somebody  else  waste 
perfectly  good  time  showing  people  around  during 
the  dinner  hour — especially  when,  if  the  "rubber- 
necks turned  up  any  cush,"  the  guide  would  have  to 
divide  with  the  thrifty  convict  usher  who  had  put 
him  "next."  It  was  "heads  I  win,  tails  you  lose," 
with  the  hungry  one — for  he  didn  't  have  to  divide  the 
chuck  with  anybody. 


MORE  STAR  VISITORS  309 

"Somebody  t'  see  the  warden,  Bo,"  called  the 
usher,  "friends  o'  his'n,  I  reckon.  Come  an'  git  'em 
— an'  lead  'em  to  it." 

No.  515  entered  the  building  and  ascending  a 
short  flight  of  stairs  entered  the  central  reception 
hall,  where  he  was  met  by  his  fellow  trusty. 

"Say,  Bo,  dis  plant  looks  good  to  me,"  said  the 
convict.  "Gee!  If  dey  ain't  de  swell  guys!  Pipe 
de  kyards  wit  de  Fift'  Av'noo  monickers,  will  ye?" 

He  handed  515  a  couple  of  genteel  visiting  cards. 

"An'  say,  Cull,"  he  continued,  warmly,  "youse 
oughter  see  de  frail — she's  a  lu-lu,  all  right,  all  right 
— believe  me!  When  youse  lamps  her  you'll  fall  fer 
dat  skoit  sure.  Dey  is  in  de  waitin'  room.  I  wouldn't 
give  youse  a  look  in,  only  Doc.  says  I  've  got  ter  have 
me  eats  reg'lar." 

No.  515  glanced  at  the  cards  and  started  down  the 
steps.  The  other  followed  him  to  the  top  of  the 
steps  and  said  cunningly,  in  a  stage  whisper: 

"If  dey  comes  across  wit  de  cush,  we  splits  de 
purse,  fifty  fer  de  house  an'  fifty  fer  youse.  I'm  de 
house.  See?" 

"All  right,"  rejoined  515,  disgustedly,  "I'll  split 
it  with  you — if,"  he  added,  significantly,  "they  'come 
across.'  " 

He  went  his  way,  cards  in  hand,  and  hastened  to- 
wards the  warden's  office. 

The  warden  still  was  standing  by  the  window  when 
No.  515  appeared  at  the  door.  The  prisoner  was 
about  to  knock,  but  noting  that  the  Major  saw  him, 
raised  his  hand  in  salute  instead. 

"Come  in,  my  man,"  the  Major  invited,  with  an 
answering  salute. 


310  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

The  trusty  approached  the  warden  and  proffered 
the  cards. 

"A  lady  and  a  gentleman  to  see  you,  sir." 

"Ah,  indeed!"  returned  the  Major,  listlessly,  con- 
cealing a  yawn — as  he  did  all  things  that  were  un- 
dignified. 

"Cards,  eh?"  he  said,  adding  caustically  to  him- 
self, "Not  any  of  Bull  Hennessy 's  select  circle,  that's 
a  dead  moral  certainty. ' ' 

Although  this  was  not  meant  for  the  prisoner's 
ear,  he  caught  the  allusion  to  Hennessy.  His  jaw 
set  viciously  and  there  was  an  ominous  glint  of  fire 
in  his  eyes  that  might  have  excited  the  warden's 
curiosity,  had  he  not  been  languidly  interested  in 
the  visiting  cards. 

The  Major  perfunctorily  took  the  bits  of  paste- 
board and  glanced  at  them. 

"Mr.  Elisha  Weatherson!  Miss  Weatherson!" 
he  exclaimed,  joyously.  "Well,  of  all  the  unexpected 
people!  Escort  them  here,  at  once." 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  trusty  saluted  and  departed  on  his  mission, 
and  the  warden  turned  back  to  the  window  and  re- 
sumed his  smoking. 

"Well,"  he  mused,  "who  ever  expected  'Lishe 
Weatherson  to  visit  me  here.  He's  been  stuck  so 
tightly  in  that  little  old  store  in  Ithaca  for  the  last 
thirty  years,  that  I  didn  't  think  dynamite  could  move 
him."  He  reverted  to  the  cards  in  his  hand.  "His 
daughter  is  with  him,  too!  Wonder  what  she  is 
like — I  haven't  seen  her  since  she  went  away  to 
boarding-school,  just  after  her  mother  died." 

His  glance  followed  the  trusty  as  he  crossed  the 
yard  and  entered  the  building  that  constituted  the 
gateway  to  the  prison. 


MORE  STAB  VISITORS  311 

"If  that  man  ever  gets  the  right  kind  of  jar  to  his 
pride,"  the  Major  gravely  soliloquized,  "he'll  go 
through  that  stone  wall,  if  he  can't  make  it  any  other 
way — and  I  fancy  it  would  be  rather  hazardous  to 
get  in  his  road." 

No.  515  went  into  the  visitor's  reception  hall  and 
had  no  difficulty  in  locating  the  warden's  friends. 
The  two  were  standing  by  the  open  window,  com- 
menting on  the  smoothly-cut  lawn  and  the  luxuriant 
shrubbery  and  beds  of  flowers  growing  in  front  of 
the  building,  which  were  just  beginning  to  bud  under 
the  gentle  touch  of  spring. 

The  trusty  patiently  waited. 

"Aren't  they  beautiful,  papa?"  she  was  saying. 
' '  How  thoughtful  the  management  is  to  put  a  bit  of 
freshness  and  color  into  the  lives  of  the  poor  unfor- 
tunates who  are  confined  here.  It  must  have  a  good 
influence  upon  them. ' ' 

Mr.  Weatherson  was  a  matter-of-fact  old  fellow, 
and  had  about  as  much  sentiment  in  his  soul  as  has  a 
wooden  Indian,  but  his  sense  of  humor  was  not  sim- 
ilarly dwarfed.  His  eyes  twinkled  with  merriment 
and  he  with  difficulty  repressed  a  hearty  laugh  at 
his  daughter's  ignorance  of  prisons. 

"Well,  little  girl,  I  guess  it  was  about  time  you 
took  in  a  prison.  You  may  need  it  in  your  business, 
when  you  write  that  book  you  are  planning. ' ' 

The  young  woman  looked  at  her  father  with  an 
expression  of  interrogation  and  mild  astonishment. 

"I  surely  shall,  papa.  That's  what  I  came  for. 
But  I  don't  quite  understand  you." 

"Why,  don't  you  see,  daughter  dear,  this  is  the 
front  yard  of  the  place.  The  back  yard,  like  every 
other,  looks  different.  These  flowers  and  shrubs 
and  green  grass  were  put  here  for  the  double  pur- 


312  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

pose  of  making  the  warden's  family — when  he  has 
one — feel  at  home,  and  giving  to  the  visitors  the 
same  impression  they  gave  you  just  now.  You  see, 
that  bit  of  landscape  gardening  catches  philanthrop- 
ic visitors  coming  and  going.  They  see  a  beautiful 
garden  when  they  enter  the  prison  and  again  when 
they  leave.  It  gives  a  nice  touch  to  their  impres- 
sions and  a  pleasant  tone  to  the  stories  they  tell. 
It  helps  a  lot,  too,  I  suppose,  with  the  folks  who  have 
friends  here." 

1  'But  don't  the  convicts  ever  get  a  chance  to 
see  them?  Are  they  never  allowed  to — " 

Mr.  Weatherson  suddenly  noticed  the  trusty  stand- 
ing near. 

"Sh— h!"  he  cautioned. 

"Pardon  me,  sir,"  said  515,  courteously.  "This 
is  Mr.  Weatherson,  is  it  not?" 

Mr.  Weatherson  looked  his  astonishment  and  the 
young  woman  turned  squarely  around  and  gazed  at 
the  man.  The  hall-mark  of  culture  displayed  by  a 
convict  was  decidedly  unexpected  and  came  with  a 
slight  shock  to  the  visitors. 

"Yes,  that  is  my  name." 

"The  warden  requested  me  to  show  you  to  his 
quarters,  sir.  Will  you  kindly  follow  me?" 

The  convict  barely  glanced  at  Miss  Weatherson, 
and  studiously  avoided  meeting  her  eye.  He  still 
could  face  men — even  respectable  ones — from  the 
outer  world,  but  a  gentlewoman! — He  had  felt  the 
awful  humiliation  and  disgrace  of  his  incarceration, 
but  never  so  keenly  as  now  on  meeting  a  refined 
member  of  the  gentler  sex — his  mother's  sex — for 
which  he  always  had  entertained  a  sentiment  and 
respect  that  verged  on  the  chivalric. 

With  half-averted  face  the  convict  showed  the 


MORE  STAB  VISITORS  313 

visitors  into  the  reception  hall  and  down  the  stairs 
into  the  jail-yard.  As  they  reached  the  bottom  stair, 
Miss  Weatherson's  foot  caught  in  the  hem  of  her 
skirt;  she  stumbled  and  would  have  fallen,  had  not 
the  guide  caught  her. 

11  Thank  you,  sir,"  she  said  gratefully.  "I  was 
dreadfully  awkward. ' ' 

"Oh,  no,  Miss,"  he  began,  "an  accident  of  that 
kind  might  happen  to  anyone  who — " 

Taken  off  his  guard,  his  eyes  met  her's.  Surprised 
into  almost  complete  loss  of  self-control,  he  suddenly 
stopped  and  leaned  for  a  moment  against  the  frame 
of  the  outer  door.  The  Weathersons  preceded  him 
into  the  yard.  The  young  woman  turned  back 
with  the  intention  of  asking  him  a  question.  Noting 
this,  by  a  powerful  effort  of  will,  he  succeeded  in  re- 
covering his  self-possession  and  followed  the  visit- 
ors. His  limbs  still  were  barely  under  control,  for 
he  staggered  a  little. 

"That  way,  sir,"  he  indicated,  his  voice  trembling 
with  emotion. 

The  young  woman  looked  at  the  trusty,  at  first 
curiously,  and  then  with  some  concern.  Turning  to 
her  father,  she  whispered : 

"The  poor  fellow  is  ill." 

The  convict  surmised  that  she  had  remarked  upon 
his  actions.  He  pulled  himself  together  and  affect- 
ed a  calmness  which  the  expression  of  his  white, 
haggard  face  emphatically  denied. 

Mr.  Weatherson  had  heard  of  the  "prison  pallor," 
and  shook  his  head  in  contradiction,  as  he  sagely 
whispered : 

"They  all  look  like  that." 

It  was  not  surprising  that  No.  515  should  have 
been  taken  off  his  feet.  Beside  the  photograph  of 


314  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

his  mother,  in  the  inner  breast  pocket  of  the  garb 
of  infamy  that  he  wore,  reposed  a  fragment  of  a  leaf 
of  an  old  magazine  containing  a  picture  of  a  beauti- 
ful young  woman — the  picture  of  Miss  Weatherson ! 

Good  God!"  he  murmured  to  himself,  "And  to 
think  that  I  should  meet  her  here !  Thank  heaven ! 
She  never  knew  me — and  never  will,  unless  I  am  a 
fool!" 

He  bit  his  lip,  lacerating  it;  clenched  his  hands 
until  his  fingers  ached  and  his  nails  painfully  creased 
his  palms;  then  shook  his  head  resolutely  as  if  to 
clear  it  of  the  vapors  that  were  oppressing  him,  and 
with  averted  face  resolutely  strode  on  beside  the 
warden's  friends,  answering  as  best  he  could  their 
interested  questions — asked  mainly  by  the  young 
woman. 

But  515  answered  laconically — almost  to  the  point 
of  brusqueness.  He  could  not  trust  his  voice. 

Miss  Weatherson  again  surreptitiously  glanced 
at  him,  with  an  expression  of  lively  curiosity  tinged 
with  commiseration.  One  might  have  fancied  that 
she  understood  the  situation,  although  she  did  not, 
in  the  least.  There  simply  had  arisen  in  her  breast 
a  little  of  the  divine  feminine  instinct  that  impels 
every  normal,  decent  woman  to  "mother"  every  bit 
of  masculinity  in  the  world  that  appeals  to  her  as 
in  the  least  worthy — or  needing  her  pity.  And  how 
often  her  judgment  errs  as  to  who  is  worthy !  Alas ! 
how  often,  too,  the  maternal  impulse — that  primal 
instinct  which  cries  out  in  the  wilderness  of  life  for 
the  father  of  the  child  that  Nature  promised  her 
when  she  herself  was  born — leads  her  feet  into  dan- 
gerous and  forbidden  paths ! 

The  maternal  desire,  striving  for  expression  in 
the  gloom  of  the  unattainable,  has  inspired  the  hu- 


MORE  STAE  VISITORS  315 

man  dove  to  mate  with  the  human  hawk,  the  human 
barnyard  fowl  with  the  human  eagle,  the  pure  with 
the  impure,  the  female  " intellectual"  with  the  clown, 
and  the  high  with  the  low;  it  has  made  milady  run 
away  with  the  chauffeur — and  the  cook  with  milord ! 
It  was  exemplified  in  Beauty  and  the  Beast,  and  im- 
mortalized by  Shakespeare  in  " Richard  the  Third'7 
and  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream."  A  fair  maid 
fell  for  the  songs  and  rhodomontade  of  Cyrano — and 
discounted  his  awful  nose.  The  society  belle  turns 
her  back  on  Apollo  and  runs  away  with  a  hunchback, 
or  a  man  with  a  wooden  leg.  As  for  the  cripple,  or 
the  acknowledged  brute  with  a  million! — Cupid 
wastes  no  time  helping  him;  he  can  take  care  of 
himself. 

Especially  has  the  maternal  instinct  been  respon- 
sible for  the  orchids  and  roses,  sweet  billets  doux 
and  heart-cry  poetry  sent  by  languishing  ladies  to 
caged  criminals.  It  stands,  in  brief,  for  the  feminine 
half  of  that  simple  yet  most  complex  problem  which 
puzzles  Society's  muddled  head  over  its  "yellow" 
morning  paper  and  coffee;  in  the  verbiage  of  the 
hoi  polloi  and  the  press — "affinity." 

As  to  the  masculine  half  of  the  affinity  business, 
the  less  said  the  better.  It  is  mighty  accommodating, 
and  spares  no  pains  to  join  both  its  nobler  and  its 
baser  impulses  in  aiding  the  softer  sex  in  its  efforts 
to  see  that  the  world  "goes  on  just  the  same." 

When  woman  learns  to  classify  her  emotions  and 
ceases  to  permit  the  animal  maternal  yearning  to 
masquerade  as  pity,  sympathy,  "spiritual"  love 
and  platonic  friendship — that  rotten  bridge  for  the 
feet  of  fools ! — she  will  become  so  discriminating  and 
fastidious  that  some  of  the  sterner  and  more  selfish 
sex  will  live  and  die  mateless. 


316  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

But  lovely  woman  is  neither  ultra-fastidious  nor 
intelligently  discriminating.  She  thinks  she  is — and 
of  course  will  resent  this — perhaps  she  one  day  may 
be,  if  we  give  her  a  fair  chance  to  grow,  but,  all  the 
same,  she  is  not  yet  so.  This,  perhaps,  is  just  as 
well,  for  if  the  call  of  the  dream-child  ever  is  too 
critically  analyzed  and  controlled,  there  likely  will 
be  no  flesh  and  blood  children. 

Meanwhile  let  this  blase  old  world  laugh  and  gibe 
at  the  ill-balanced  feminine  creatures  from  the  better 
walks  of  life,  who  make  horrible  mesalliances,  or  give 
maudlin  pity  and  ill-advised  attention  to  criminals, 
but  if  the  instinct  and  emotions  which  lie  behind 
their  foolishness  should  pass  away  forever — well, 
this  worn  old  world  of  ours  indeed  would  soon  be 
only  a  desolate  mud-ball. 

To  the  initiated,  the  bouquet  of  roses  sent  by  a 
refined  woman  to  a  murderer  is  not  quite  so  incom- 
prehensible as  it  seems — no  more  so  than  the  affec- 
tion lavished  by  a  childless  woman  upon  her  dog. 
And  the  poor  souls  are  of  the  same  kidney.  There 
is  more  of  pathos  than  of  bathos  in  the  lives  of 
both. 

And  the  rosy  pink  god,  Puck-like,  sits  on  the  four- 
barred  fence  of  ethics,  morality,  law  and  religion, 
with  which  that  apotheosis  of  stupidity,  Society,  has 
surrounded  itself,  and  laughs  at  the  imbecility  of 
man. 

So  shadowy  was  the  touch  of  the  world-old  in- 
stinct on  the  heart  and  brain  of  Josephine  Weather- 
son,  that,  at  the  first  suggestion  of  such  a  thing,  she 
would  have  shrunk  away  in  horror  from  the  poor 
devil  of  a  convict  as  from  a  virulent  and  foul  con- 
tagion, and  yet,  the  curtain  already  was  beginning 


MOKE  STAR  VISITORS  317 

to  rise  on  an  old,  old,  serio-comedy — old,  yet  ever 
new! 

In  the  prompter's  box  sat  Dan  Cupid,  impatiently 
waiting  for  the  players  to  begin.  Dan  was  decidedly 
weary  of  it  all,  and  thinking,  " What's  the  use?" 
But  he  was  grinning  from  one  pink  ear  to  the  other, 
and  anon  cunningly  laughing  to  himself. 

Cupid  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  devil  in  the  wings, 
anxiously  waiting  to  see  if  he  might  bore  into  the 
cast. 

4 'Nothing  doing,  'Phisto!"  cried  Dan.  "It's  on 
the  square — and  besides,"  he  chuckled,  cynically, 
"this  is  a  jail.  Come  around  later." 

Major  Donaldson  saw  his  friends  and  their  convict 
guide  enter  the  prison  yard  and  come  toward  his 
quarters.  He  tossed  his  cigar  into  a  convenient  re- 
ceptacle and  hurried  to  the  door  to  meet  them.  No. 
515  ushered  the  visitors  into  the  office,  standing 
respectfully  aside  to  let  them  pass,  and  then  disap- 
peared, to  enter  the  dining  hall  a  moment  later. 

"Well!  Well!  My  dear  Weatherson,  where  on 
earth  did  you  come  from,  you  old  fossil?"  cried  the 
Major,  heartily,  grasping  both  of  his  friend's  hands 
in  his  own  and  shaking  them  so  vigorously  that  he 
winced. 

' '  Ouch !  You  old  ruffian !  Straight  from  Albany. 
Went  up  to  visit  my  sister  last  week.  We  thought 
we  'd  drop  in  on  you  and  give  you  a  surprise. ' ' 

"You  surely  succeeded,"  said  the  Major,  with  an- 
other vigorous  shake  of  Mr.  Weatherson 's  hands, 
which  gradually  were  growing  purple. 

"All  right,  then,  Mr.  Bear,  just  let  go  my  hands, 
will  you,  and  I'll  introduce  the  lady." 


318  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Quite  unnecessary,"  exclaimed  the  Major,  turn- 
ing to  the  young  woman. 

"Our  little  Joe!  A  grown-up  lady,  too,  and,"  he 
gallantly  added,  "a  most  beautiful  and  charming  one. 
My,  but  you  have — ." 

"Well — ?"  interrogated  Miss  Weatherson,  archly. 

"Eh?    What—'/  he  stared  at  her  bewilderedly. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  kiss  me?"  she  pouted. 

"Am  I  f "  cried  the  Major,  gleefully.  ' '  Just  watch 
me ! ' '  and  he  gave  her  a  hearty  smack. 

1 ' Still  my  little  Joe,  eh  ? "  he  laughed.  "Why,  my 
dear,  you  have  grown  so  big  and  so  grand,  that  I 
was — " 

"Afraid,  eh!"  she  gibed,  merrily.  "And  you've 
marched  right  up  to  the  cannon's  mouth,  too." 

"Which  isn't  half  so  dangerous  as  marching  up 
to  yours,  you  bewitching  little  heart-breaker!" 
roared  the  delighted  Major. 

"Martyr!"  she  retorted. 

"No,  my  dear;  not  a  martyr,  but  a  discreet  old 
gentleman,  who  has  arrived  at  the  age  when  he  can 
see  danger  to  young  men,  to  which  he  himself  is 
immune. ' ' 

"Age  or  experience,  Major?"  she  smilingly 
flashed. 

"Both,  my  dear,"  he  sighed.    "Both." 

"But,  come,"  he  said,  "sit  down  and  be  like  home 
folks.  Tell  me  all  about  yourselves.  How  did  you 
leave  the  folks  in  Ithaca?  And,  say,  'Lisha,  what's 
going  on  up  at  Albany  ?  Joe,  my  dear,  you  must  tell 
me  how  you  carried  on  at  the  capital.  I  suppose 
you  have  a  belt  full  of  scalps,  eh  ? " 

"Now,  my  dear  Major!"  protested  Mr.  Weather- 
son.  "  Those  things  will  keep.  We  are  not  going  to 


MORE  STAB  VISITORS  319 

sit  down,  even  for  a  moment.  We  're  up  for  the  day, 
with  your  permission,  and  there  '11  be  time  enough  to 
visit  after  your  official  labors  are  over.  Meanwhile, 
we'll  look  about  the  prison  a  little.  Josephine  is 
going  to  combine  business  with  pleasure,  you  know. ' ' 

1  'Business?"  queried  the  warden,  turning  to  the 
young  woman,  wonderingly.  "When  did  our  little 
Joe  launch  into  the  business  world — and  what  have 
we  to  offer  you  in  the  way  of  business?  Looking 
for  the  position  of  matron,  my  dear?" 

"Well,  Major,"  she  asked,  mischievously  "don't 
you  think  I  could  fill  it  acceptably  ? ' ' 

"Perhaps,"  he  responded,  cautiously,  "but,"  and 
he  laughed  vociferously,  "I  don't  think  you  could  fill 
it  as  completely  as  it  already  is  filled,  my  dear." 

"I  see,"  she  pouted.  "You  are  like  papa.  He 
doesn't  think  a  woman  has  any  head  at  all." 

The  Major  laughed,  as  he  recalled  his  collision 
with  Mrs.  Morgan  that  morning. 

Miss  Weatherson  began  to  grow  indignant. 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear,"  the  warden  explained,  "I 
was  not  thinking  of  your  intellect,  which  is  obvious, 
but  of  the  present  incumbent's  tonnage,"  and  he  re- 
lated the  comical  adventure  of  the  morning,  much  to 
the  edification  of  his  friends,  and  especially  of  Jose- 
phine, whose  good  nature  immediately  was  restored. 

"But  as  to  the  business  in  which  Josephine  is  in- 
terested, Major,"  said  the  father.  "She  is  doing 
some  special  up-lif t  stunts  for  a  high-brow  magazine, 
and  is  on  the  track  of  some — er,  dope.  She  thinks 
that  Sing  Sing  is  a  storehouse  of  literary  treasures 
for  her  fell  purposes." 

"And  so  it  is — so  it  is,"  agreed  the  Major. 
"There's  muck  enough  here  for  a  dozen  rakers.  Is 
that  what  you  are  up  to,  my  dear — muck-raking?" 


320  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Yes,  and  if  you're  not  nice  to  me,  I'll  show  you 
up,  Mr.  Warden,"  she  retorted  with  a  laugh. 

"Ah,  I  see.  If  I  don't  behave,  I'll  be  just  so  much 
muck  for  your  rake.  In  lifting  society  up,  you  will 
rake  the  poor  old  Major  down." 

He  held  his  hands  above  his  head  as  if  she  had 
cried,  * '  Stand  and  deliver ! ' '  and  exclaimed  in  mock 
terror : 

"Don't  shoot— I'll  surrender!" 

"And  now  that  you  are  my  prisoner,"  she  said, 
archly,  "may  I  look  around  your  old  man-cage!" 

' '  Certainly,  my  dear,  and  as  you  are  out  for  novel 
experiences,  I  '11  give  you  one.  I  '11  have  a  convict — 
a  trusty — show  you  around  for  a  while.  I'll  take 
charge  of  you  myself  this  afternoon.  Don't  make 
notes  'till  then,  for  if  I'm  going  to  be  muck-raked 
by  you,  my  lovely  little  blue- stocking,  I  prefer  to 
gather  the  dope  myself.  Nothing  like  being  on  the 
safe  side,  eh,  'Lishe?"  He  winked  good-naturedly 
at  Mr.  Weatherson. 

"Will  you  really  have  a  prisoner  show  me  around 
— and  are  you  in  earnest  about  this  afternoon  f" 
The  young  woman's  eyes  fairly  danced  with  ex- 
citement. 

"Of  course,  my  dear." 

"You  sweet  old  thing,  you!  I've  a  notion  to  kiss 
you  again  for  that!"  She  took  a  step  toward  the 
warden. 

He  raised  his  hand  in  protest  and  smilingly  said, 
with  mock  gravity : 

"Now,  see  here,  young  woman,  I  have  a  lot  of 
work  to  do,  but  if  you  jolly  me  any  more  I'll  cut 
that  convict  out  of  the  program  and  attend  to  your 
entire  entertainment  myself."  ' 

"Oh,  horrors!"  she  cried,  in  pretended  alarm, 


MORE  STAR  VISITORS  321 

"what  an  awful  threat!  Please  don't,  Major,  dear, 
I '11  be  good!" 

The  Major  raised  a  warning  finger. 

"You'd  better  be  good,  you  saucy  little  minx! 
Remember,  I'm  boss  of  this  *  man-cage,'  as  you  call 
it,  and  on  a  pinch — and  without  a  pinch — I  could 
put  you  in  a  dark  cell  on  bread  and  water."  He 
struck  the  call-bell  on  his  desk. 

"And  please,  Major,  dear,"  she  chaffed,  "couldn't 
I  have  just  one  little  piece  of  pie?" 

"I  should  say  not.  I  couldn't  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  Paris  green  that  pie,  Miss  Muck-raker!" 

He  again  rang  the  bell,  a  little  impatiently.  In 
answer  to  his  second  summons,  Stubby  shambled 
in,  slouched  into  attention,  and  the  Major  proceeded 
to  go  through  the  usual  routine  of  military  salu- 
tation. 

Now,  Stubby  was  not  a  graceful  figure  at  best. 
He  never  had  been  able  to  put  up  much  of  a  mili- 
tary front,  and  the  Major  had  almost  given  him  up 
for  a  bad  job.  As  he  stood  there  furtively  looking 
about,  twisting  his  hideous  cap  in  his  hands  and  en- 
deavoring to  conform  to  the  warden's  ideas  of  mili- 
tary form,  he  suggested  an  organ-grinder's  monkey 
that  suddenly  had  assumed  gigantic  proportions. 

Miss  Weatherson  grasped  the  situation  at  a  glance. 
The  contrast  between  the  Major  and  the  gorilla- 
like  Stubby  in  their  endeavors  to  conform  to  the 
most  punctilious  military  etiquette,  was  almost  too 
much  for  her  self-control.  She  with  difficulty  re- 
frained from  laughing  aloud. 

The  Major  had  not  intended  assigning  to  any  par- 
ticular trusty  the  duty  of  showing  nis  friends  about 
the  prison,  but  when  he  saw  Stubby  going  through 
his  display  of  anthropoidal  awkwardness  in  the  one 


322  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

thing  of  all  others  in  which  the  old  warrior  took  es- 
pecial pride,  he  was  taken  decidedly  aback.  With- 
out appearing  to  interest  himself  in  the  impression 
Stubby  was  making  upon  his  friends,  the  warden 
noted  that  Miss  Weatherson  was  being  highly  en- 
tertained. At  this  he  was  flustered  almost  to  the 
point  of  losing  his  poise. 

It  was  obvious  that  Stubby  was  a  misfit  in  the 
plan  of  entertainment.  Plainly  No.  611  would  not 
do  at  all.  The  Major  concealed  his  confusion  by 
putting  on  an  extra-heavy  mantle  of  dignity. 

"My  man,"  he  said,  "send  515  to  this  office  at 
once. 

Here  Stubby  completely  forgot  his  lines. 

"Surest  t'ing  ye  know,"  he  mumbled. 

The  convict  then  repeated  his  simian-like  inter- 
pretation of  military  etiquette,  and  the  Major,  willy 
nilly,  was  compelled  to  answer  the  grotesque  salu- 
tation— which  performance  very  nearly  wrecked  his 
dignity  beyond  repair. 

Miss  Weatherson  again  succeeded  in  controlling 
her  risibilities,  but  her  face  displayed  a  congestive 
color  which  suggested  that  she  was  in  imminent 
danger  of  injuring  her  health  by  suppressing  her 
emotions. 

Stubby  had  a  dim  consciousness  that  he  did  not 
fit  nicely  into  the  general  scheme  of  things  that 
morning,  and  the  young  woman's  presence  did  not 
greatly  reassure  him.  He  noticed  what  trouble  she 
was  having  in  preserving  her  gravity,  and  while  he 
intuitively  knew  that  the  warden  was  as  important 
a  factor  in  the  little  burlesque  as  was  he  himself, 
he  had  an  almost  irresistible  impulse  to  take  to 
his  legs  and  run  away  from  the  embarrassing  sit- 
uation. On  leaving  the  room,  therefore,  he  very 


MORE  STAR  VISITORS  323 

nearly  sprinted,  his  monkey-like  appearance  being 
exaggerated  by  his  extraordinary  gait — a  prepos- 
terous combination  of  stumble,  shuffle  and,  slide, 
that  would  have  made  his  fortune  on  the  stage. 

When  the  convict  reached  the  door,  he  stumbled 
and  almost  fell.  As  he  went  down  the  hall  he  sprint- 
ed in  dead  earnest — Stubby  unmistakably  was  in 
a  great  hurry. 

No.  515  promptly  appeared  and  there  was  another 
exchange  of  military  formalities.  Miss  Weatherson 
suddenly  became  interested  in  the  view  from  the 
front  windows  and  putting  her  handkerchief  to  her 
face,  experienced  a  fit  of  coughing  which,  had  Bull 
Hennessy  witnessed  it,  undoubtedly  would  have  in- 
terested that  gentleman  in  his  capacity  of  advance 
agent  for  Dr.  Pull's  Pulmonic  Elixir. 

The  Major  wrote  a  line  upon  a  card  and  handed 
it  to  the  prisoner. 

"Show  this  lady  and  gentleman  over  the  prison. 
The  card  will  pass  you  everywhere,"  he  said  to  his 
friends,  adding  significantly,  and  looking  the  pris- 
oner through  and  through — "everywhere  inside  the 
gates.  And  now,  Miss  Weatherson,  attention!" 

The  young  woman  struck  a  martial  attitude, 
clicked  her  heels,  came  to  attention  and  gave  a  very 
good  imitation  of  a  military  salute. 

"Captain  Joe,"  continued  the  Major,  responding 
with  affected  gravity  to  her  salute,  "you  will  report 
at  my  mess  tent  for  dinner  promptly  at  two  o'clock. 
Bring  your  patient  and  long  suffering  orderly,  Pri- 
vate Elisha  Weatherson,  with  you.  If  you  are  wil- 
ling to  waive  distinctions  of  rank,  I  have  no  objec- 
tions to  his  dining  with  us." 

"Your  orders  shall  be  obeyed,  sir,"  and  the  young 
woman  again  saluted. 


324  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Humph!"  grunted  her  father;  "I'm  glad  there's 
somebody  who  can  make  her  mind."  She  smiled 
affectionately  at  him  and  gently  pinched  his  cheek. 

"How  did  you  ever  manage  to  break  away  from 
business,  'Lishe?"  asked  the  Major,  as  the  party 
moved  toward  the  door. 

Mr.  Weatherson  laughed,  and  flirted  his  finger 
in  his  daughter's  direction. 

"I  didn't  break  away.    She  made  me  retire." 

"Ah,  I  see.  Joe,  eh?"  said  the  Major,  amusedly. 
"There's  something  to  be  said  in  favor  of  petticoat 
government,  after  all." 

The  trusty  politely  stood  aside  to  let  the  Weather- 
sons  pass,  but  did  not  squarely  face  them.  The  young 
woman,  however,  had  recognized  him  when  he  first 
entered  the  office  and,  for  some  reason,  which  she 
herself  hardly  could  have  defined,  she  was  glad  that 
he  again  was  to  act  as  their  escort. 

The  Weathersons  passed  out  of  the  door,  followed 
by  their  convict  guide.  Major  Donaldson  went  to 
the  window  and  stood  gazing  into  the  jail-yard, 
waiting  for  his  friends  to  appear.  As  they  emerged 
from  the  building  he  called  to  Miss  Weatherson : 

"Remember,  Captain — two  o'clock,  sharp." 

The  young  woman  halted  and  saluted,  then  threw 
him  a  kiss. 

"On  the  military  dot,  sir,"  she  replied. 

The  Major  bit  off  the  end  of  a  cigar,  lit  a  match 
and  stood  abstractedly  gazing  after  the  party  until 
the  flame  scorched  his  fingers.  He  dropped  the  blaz- 
ing wood,  swore  under  his  breath,  and  relieved  his 
feelings  by  throwing  the  cigar  out  of  the  window. 
This  was  distinctly  contrary  to  the  police  regulations 
of  the  prison — which  showed  that  the  warden  was  in 
"a  state  of  mind." 


MOEE  STAK  VISITORS  325 

There  was  a  shade  of  sadness  on  the  warden's 
countenance  as  he  repaired  to  his  desk  and  seated 
himself  in  the  chair  of  state.  He  rested  his  face  on 
his  hands  and  mused  aloud: 

" What's  the  use  of  anything?  When  youth  is 
gone,  all  is  gone.  Fool  that  I  was,  to  let  mine  drift 
into  the  ocean  of  years  without  realizing  its  worth ! 
And  now — 

' '  '  Oh,  give  me,  Lord,  one  hour  of  youth  again ! 
For  in  that  time  I  was  sincere  and  bold, 
And  uncontaminate,  and  enraptured  with 
The  Universe.    I  did  not  know  the  pangs 
Of  the  proud  mind,  nor  the  sweet  miseries 
Of  love ;  and  never  yet  had  gathered 
After  those  fires,  so  sweet  in  burning,  bitter 
Handfuls  of  ashes '    " 

The  Major  seemed  older  than  he  was  on  entering 
the  office  that  morning.  There  were  lines  in  his 
face  that  were  not  there  before. 

"  I  almost  hope  that  Bull  Hennessy  makes  good 
— and  gets  my  job,"  he  sighed,  as  he  picked  up  his 
pen  and  arranged  his  documents  ready  for  work. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  AWAKENING 

If  the  warden  had  desired  deliberately  to  torture 
No.  515  he  could  not  have  selected  a  surer  or  more 
effective  method  than  ordering  him  to  escort  the 
"Weathersons  on  their  tour  of  observation  of  the 
prison. 

No  system  of  torture  ever  devised  equals  the 
mental  anguish  suffered  under  certain  conditions 
by  persons  of  refined  and  sensitive  nervous  organi- 
zation. Robert  Parkyn,  No.  515,  indubitably  was  an 
individual  of  this  kind.  He  had  keenly  suffered 
under  the  humiliation  and  disgrace  of  his  trial  and 
commitment  for  murder*.  His  distress  had  been 
made  especially  poignant  by  the  agony  of  his  mother 
— agony  that  only  loyal  and  loving  mothers  ever 
feel  and  which,  since  the  world  began,  no  man  ever 
was  affectionate,  great,  or  useful  enough  to  justify 
— with,  perhaps,  the  single  exception  of  Him  who 
played  the  leading  role  in  that  awful  tragedy  enacted 
in  the  long  ago  on  Calvary. 

After  the  prison  doors  had  closed  upon  him,  and 
he  had  begun  serving  his  unjust  sentence,  Parkyn 
found  that  there  were  still  new  and  to  him  hitherto 
undiscovered  regions  in  the  Valley  of  Sorrows. 

Anticipation  of  joy  has  a  livelier  zest  for  the  men- 
tal palate  than  does  its  realization.  We  borrow  pleas- 
urable thrills  in  advance,  and  find  our  supply  deplet- 


THE  AWAKENING  327 

ed  when  it  should  be  most  abundant.  The  evergreen 
hills  of  happiness  are  seen  through  the  mystic  haze 
that  distance  gives  to  the  pictures  which  imagination 
paints  on  the  horizon  of  hope.  Not  so  with  our 
prospective  griefs,  and  pains,  and  sorrows.  Antic- 
ipation never  takes  the  edge  off  these;  it  merely 
makes  them  keener  when  they  arrive. 

No  imagination  is  so  vivid  that  it  can  in  prospec- 
tive do  full  justice  to  the  agony  experienced  from 
the  loss  of  liberty  by  one  to  whom  life  in  the  free 
outer  world  means  something. 

To  the  professional  criminal,  whose  sensibilities 
often  are  of  a  low  order  from  birth  and  still  further 
blunted  by  the  vicissitudes  of  his  environment,  neith- 
er the  dread  nor  the  realization  of  incarceration  in 
a  penal  institution  is  as  keen  as  some  people  suppose. 
To  him,  detection  and  imprisonment  are  only  mal- 
adventures  inseparable  from  his  business — merely 
part  of  the  day's  work.  He  knows  that  he  must  of 
necessity  lead  an  in-and-out-of -prison  life.  The  rel- 
ative proportions  of  "in"  and  "out"  depend  upon 
his  cleverness,  plus  the  influence  of  politics  and  of 
luck — that  good  fairy  who  is  quite  as  potent  in  the 
affairs  of  evil  men  as  she  is  in  those  of  the  just, 
good  and  upright. 

The  confirmed  criminal  has  more  lusts  than  loves, 
and  no  home  ties,  for  life  in  and  out  of  jail  is  not 
conducive  to  domesticity  of  tastes,  habits,  or  even 
opportunities.  Wives  and  children  may  be  merely 
bait  for  traps  set  to  catch  the  human  foxes,  rats, 
wolves  and  tigers  of  the  underworld,  so  the  "wise 
guy"  of  gang-land  will  have  none  of  them.  Your 
wise  crook  is  even  careful  not  to  get  too  deeply  into 
the  bird-lime  of  love,  in  that  pseudo-domestic  life 


328  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

where  reigns  the  "moll."  As  a  certain  "gent"  ex- 
pressed it  in  the  argot  of  gang-land: 

"If  de  crooks  wuzn't  turned  up  by  de  frails,  an' 
nobody  never  snitched,  dere'd  be  nuttin'  to  it — just 
nuttin'  to  it.  De  fly-cops  'd  lose  dere  reputashuns, 
an'  be  put  ter  drivin'  teams  an'  ice  wagons,  an' 
half  o'  dem  harness  bulls  'd  have  ter  sweep  crossins', 
while  de  udder  half  o'  dem  big  stiffs  wuz  guardin' 
'em." 

So,  even  a  steady  moll  really  is  a  luxury  that 
spells  danger  for  the  criminal,  although  it  must 
be  acknowledged  that  he  is  more  secure  when  the 
"frail"  really  is  of  the  underworld  and  to  the  man- 
ner born.  The  female  professional  thief  or  prosti- 
tute is  a  safer  consort  for  the  male  crook  than  is  the 
woman  who  is  either  innocent  or  merely  an  onlooker 
in  the  world  of  crime. 

The  professional  criminal  has  no  pride — except 
a  purely  professional  one — to  wound  by  sending  him 
to  prison.  The  upper-world  on  which  the  under- 
world preys  can  think  no  less  of  a  thief  because  of 
the  advertisement  he  receives  in  the  yellow  press. 
War  ever  prevails  between  the  two  social  strata  and 
no  quarter  is  asked  by  either.  The  opinions  of  one 
another  entertained  by  the  denizens  of  gang-land  and 
those  of  upper  Fifth  Avenue  are  mutually  uncom- 
plimentary and  disrespectful,  and  any  blow  which 
the  one  may  deal  the  other  does  not  change  the  opin- 
ion one  whit,  for  better  or  worse. 

Supposing  the  crook  is  sent  to  prison — has  he 
cause  for  shame  in  what  is  merely  a  business  re- 
verse? Even  if  he  did  have  cause,  would  he  have 
the  capacity  of  appreciation  of  his  humiliation? 
And  so  for  your  true  criminal  the  "stir"  has  its 
inconveniences,  but  no  disgrace.  He  may  meet  in 


THE  AWAKENING  329 

prison  brutality,  cruel  and  unusual  punishment,  in- 
justice and  all  that — but  when  he  gets  out  of  stir 
he  can  look  his  own  world  straight  in  the  eye.  He 
knows  that  he  will  be  welcomed  back  to  the  under- 
world as  a  hapless  soldier  of  fortune — a  hero,  never- 
theless, who  temporarily  has  been  "down  on  his 
luck."  He  sometimes  fears  the  gang  will  give  him 
"de  merry  ha!  ha!"  for  getting  "collared,"  but  this 
is  the  worst,  and  will  be  forgotten  in  the  lustre  of  a 
new  and  more  gloriously  ending  job. 

Should  the  professional  criminal  commit  murder, 
whether  he  expiates  the  crime  or  not,  then  indeed, 
is  he  crowned  with  the  laurel  and  the  bays  of  gang- 
land! The  more  notches  he  has  on  the  butt  of  his 
"gatt,"  the  greater  his  prestige  and  the  more  efful- 
gently  brilliant  the  halo  of  glory  with  which  the  gang 
invests  his  heroic  head ! 

When  Eobert  Parkyn  entered  Sing  Sing,  he  was 
suffering  the  tortures  of  a  mental  hell,  but  compared 
with  what  was  to  come  this  was  pure  joy.  If  the 

Erison  degradation  and  misery,  and  the  arduous 
ibor  of  the  stone-yard  had  not  dulled  his  sensibili- 
ties, bringing  in  their  train  a  certain  degree  of  apa- 
thy and  a  fatalistic  acceptation  of  the  inevitable,  he 
must  have  gone  mad — as  had  many  before  him. 
When  he  became  a  trusty  he  began  to  shake  off  his 
indifference  and  to  hope — vaguely,  it  is  true,  but 
nevertheless  to  hope. 

The  revelation  that  Stubby  had  made  to  him,  fol- 
lowed, as  it  was,  by  meeting  Miss  Weatherson  and 
recognizing  in  her  the  original  of  the  picture  which, 
with  the  idealistic  impressionism  of  youth,  he  had  so 
long  worn  close  to  his  heart,  not  only  brought  him 
back  to  his  own  manly  self,  but  transformed  him 


330  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

into  a  new  and  more  dynamic  being,  one  in  whose 
heart  and  brain  seethed  hot  desire  for  liberty  and, 
naturally  enough,  for  revenge — the  most  consuming 
of  all  passions.  And  now  came  this  pseudo-compan- 
ionship with  the  girl  of  his  dreams! 

As  No.  515  was  escorting  the  Major's  guests  to 
the  various  places  of  interest  about  the  prison,  he 
was  compelled,  despite  himself,  to  converse  with 
them.  Both  father  and  daughter  instinctively  re- 
alized that  their  guide  was  not  of  the  class  that  con- 
stituted the  majority  of  the  prison  population,  and 
were  careful  to  avoid  comment  and  questions  that 
possibly  might  wound  his  sensibilities  or  lead  him 
to  suspect  that  they  entertained  any  curiosity  re- 
garding his  own  history.  The  daughter,  in  particu- 
lar, was  not  only  extremely  punctilious  in  avoiding 
all  reference  or  inquiry  regarding  his  personal  af- 
fairs, but  was  as  affable  as  she  was  considerate. 
She  plainly  showed,  moreover,  that  she  found  their 
courteous  and  intelligent  escort  more  than  ordinar- 
ily interesting.  That  he  was  refined,  well-bred  and 
an  educated  man  was  self-evident. 

The  young  woman's  delicate  avoidance  of  topics 
which  might  distress,  or  at  least  embarrass,  her 
convict  guide,  was  the  more  commendable  because 
of  the  fact  that  she  was  making  considerable  sacri- 
fice in  so  doing,  for  she  had  the  curiosity  common 
to  her  sex,  and  plainly  also,  was  becoming  interested 
in  him. 

"Poor  fellow!"  she  thought,  "For  a  man  of  his 
intelligence  and  refinement  to  be  shut  up  in  this 
frightful  prison,  away  from  the  world  in  which  he 
probably  had  an  important  part  to  play,  is  an  awful 
tragedy. ' ' 

"Miss  Weatherson  was — well,  she  was  a  woman — 


THE  AWAKENING  331 

hence  it  was  not  astonishing  that  she  should  have 
noticed  the  fine  features  and  dark  eyes  of  the  con- 
vict guide.  She  also  noted  that  he  was  of  splendid 
stature  and  that  his  figure,  which  even  the  miserable 
prison  garb  of  the  trusty  could  not  quite  conceal,  was 
magnificently  proportioned  and  as  erect  as  that  of 
a  soldier.  He  showed  the  athlete  in  every  line  and 
movement. 

Dan  Cupid,  still  in  the  prompter's  box,  noticing 
that  the  young  woman  was,  becoming  critical, 
whistled  to  the  devil,  who  still  was  peeping  out  from 
the  wings,  awaiting  his  cue,  and  cried : 

'  *  Nothing  doing  for  you,  Cloven  Hoof,  but  you  did 
well  to  stick  around  a  while.  The  play  begins  to 
look  interesting,  and  you  might  be  glad  to  know  what 
the  real  thing  is  like. ' ' 

And  as  the  young  woman  looked  at  the  prisoner 
she  wondered  what  grim  tragedy  lay  behind  that 
number — 515.  Somehow,  she  instinctively  rebelled 
at  the  thought  that  this  man  could  have  committed 
a  crime  which  justified  his  presence  here.  How 
could  such  a  man  have  been  even  touched,  were  it 
ever  so  lightly,  by  the  mantle  of  disgrace?  She 
would  ask  the  Major  about  him  at  dinner.  The  un- 
fortunate fellow  was  not,  she  felt  sure,  and  never 
could  have  been,  a  part  of  that  under- world  which 
she,  like  every  other  well-bred  woman,  had  seen  only 
as  through  a  glass  smoked  by  conventionality,  and 
which  she  only  recently  ever  had  endeavored  to  com- 
prehend as  part  of  the  great  problem  of  humanity — 
a  problem  that  it  was  her  duty  to  understand,  if 
she  would  be  of  social  service. 

The  young  man  must  have  come  from  refined  sur- 
roundings ;  he  could  not  always  have  been  de  classe 
— of  this  she  was  quite  convinced.  His  world  and 


332  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

her's  could  not  have  been  so  very  far  apart  out  yon- 
der, beyond  that  grey  forbidding  wall. 

In  fancy  she  could  see  his  mother — a  woman  of  her 
own  class,  she  felt  quite  certain — grey-haired,  bowed 
with  grief  and  shame  by  the  fate  of  her  boy.  Or  did 
the  mother  know?  She  hoped  that  the  poor  thing 
did  not  know. 

And  his  sister — or  did  he  have  a  sister?  If  so, 
how  that  sister  must  have  felt  when  she  heard  of 
her  brother's  downfall !  How  wretched  both  mother 
and  sister  now  must  feel,  as  the  consciousness  of  the 
emptiness  of  their  wrecked,  unhappy  lives  was 
borne  in  upon  them,  day  by  day,  by  his  absence  and 
the  knowledge  that  he  would  not  come  until — How 
long,  she  wondered,  was  his  sentence  ? 

What  must  he  himself  have  felt  when  the  grim, 
ponderous  gates  of  Sing  Sing  closed  upon  him! 
How  cruel  it  must  have  been  to  lose  that  outer 
world  which  always  has  meant  so  much  to  men  like 
him — strong,  intelligent,  handsome  and  ambitious 
men.  She  was  confident  that  he  had  been  ambitious — 
and  proud!  She  quite  understood  his  averted  eyes 
and  the  almost  monosyllabic  answers  to  her  ques- 
tions that  he  gave  when  he  was  not  off  guard. 
As  she  thought  of  all  these  things  a  great  wave  of 
pity  swept  over  her,  and  tears  almost  sprang  to  her 
eyes. 

When  a  woman  really  pities  a  man,  even  one  who 
is  quite  impossible,  she  is  on  thin  ice.  Unconscious 
of  its  meaning  she  may  be,  but  there  always  is  a 
touch  of  that  mysterious  under-thrill  that  is  more 
than  pity,  and  which,  when  the  fates  so  decree, 
grows  into  something  that  has  irresistibly  drawn  the 
sexes  together,  in  jail  or  out,  since  the  earth  was 
new. 


THE  AWAKENING  333 

No.  515,  with  face  averted  so  far  as  might  be, 
battled  with  the  most  disturbing  emotions  that  ever 
beset  any  man.  Miss  Weatherson  typified  the  only 
ideal  of  womankind,  save  his  own  mother,  that  ever 
had  entered  his  life,  even  in  the  slightest  degree, 
and  more,  she  typified  the  world,  the  beautiful  world 
that  he  had  left  behind.  She  stood  for  what  right- 
fully was  his.  She  was  a  mirror,  in  which  was  re- 
flected his  own  youth,  the  youth  that  was  buried  in 
that  awful  prison.  In  her  he  saw  his  dreams  of  fame, 
of  love,  of  home,  and  of  children.  In  her  he  saw 
all  that  might  have  been,  and  all  that  still  might  be, 
if  only — ! 

There  are  no  supreme  moments  in  the  lives  of  the 
commonplace.  Neither  their  joys  nor  their  sorrows, 
ever  quite  reach  the  heights.  There  is  a  law  of  com- 
pensation in  human  life,  and  when  the  emotion  meter 
that  nature  implanted  in  the  breast  of  man,  and 
which  nestles  close  to  his  very  soul,  registers  too 
high,  she  has  a  trick  of  knocking  it  the  other  way. 
Perhaps  it  is  better  so,  for  what  could  be  juster  than 
rendering  unto  Caesar  those  things  which  are  Cae- 
sar's? 

The  supreme  moment  of  Robert  Parkyn's  life 
now  was  very  near.  He  was  destined  to  live  his 
life,  not  as  he  had  originally  planned,  still  less  as 
Boss  Hennessy  had  planned.  The  fates  one  day 
would  be  very  kind  to  him.  He  would  marry  and 
have  children,  and  it  was  written  in  the  Book  of 
Fate  that  he  would  live  to  hear  the  prattle  of  his 
children 's  children ;  he  again  would  be  a  man  among 
men,  and  mingle  with  the  respectable,  even  with  the 
rich  and  famous  sons  of  earth,  as  upon  equal 
terms,  but  never  again  would  he  have  a  moment  of 


334  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

ecstasy  quite  like  that  which  soon  would  be  his — 
and  he  did  not  know ! 

He  knew  nothing,  save  that  his  very  brain  was  on 
fire.  He  had  no  thought,  no  impulse,  save  to  get 
away — to  make  a  break  for  liberty  and  all  those 
wonderful  and  beautiful  things  that  lay  just  beyond 
those  grey,  frowning  walls  of  insensate  stone — 
things  which  he  never  half  appreciated  until  he  was 
cast  within  those  walls,  and  never  fully  appreciated 
until  now.  His  life  might  be  forfeited,  but  men 
had  died  by  thousands  for  less,  far  less  than  the 
things  that  lay  in  the  land  of  his  heart's  desire,  just 
beyond  that  cruel  barrier  which  was  so  jealously 
guarded  by  those  ruffians  in  the  sentry  boxes. 

They  were  passing  the  large  gate  through  which 
the  supply  wagons  were  wont  to  pass.  No.  515  saw 
that  it  was  open !  Opportunity  knocked  loudly  at  his 
door,  and  an  irresistible  flood  of  desire  swept  over 
him.  Weird,  inconstant  lights  flickered  before  his 
vision.  He  turned,  gazed  at  Miss  Weatherson  for  a 
second  with  an  expression  that  startled  her  with  its 
fierce  intensity,  and  then  madly  tore  through  the 
gate,  upsetting  one  of  the  guards  on  the  way. 

Immediately  outside  were  several  men,  who  evi- 
dently had  just  passed  out  by  the  gate.  They  heard  the 
startled  cry  of  the  guards  and  turned  inquiringly. 
Instantly  grasping  the  situation,  they  attempted  to 
block  the  fleeing  convict's  way.  One  man,  larger  and 
more  powerful  than  the  rest,  stepped  directly  in 
front  of  him  and  grasped  him  by  the  shoulder. 

The  recognition  was  as  brief  as  it  was  mutual — 
and  most  disastrous  to  one  of  the  parties.  Boss 
Hennessy  went  down  like  a  pole-axed  ox,  under  a 


THE  AWAKENING  335 

crushing  blow  from  some  object  which  the  escaping 
prisoner  had  taken  out  of  his  pocket  as  he  ran ! 

The  supreme  moment  of  Eobert  Parkyn's  life 
was  then!  Never  again  would  he  experience  such 
delight  as  he  felt  when,  impelled  by  his  powerful, 
scientific  hand,  the  warden's  paper-weight  crushed 
against  Bull  Hennessy's  thick  skull.  The  sensation 
of  the  impact  of  the  weapon  against  his  enemy's 
head,  and  the  quick  sinking  of  the  ruffian ' s  body,  un- 
der the  blow,  gave  the  fleeing  man  the  most  joyous 
thrill  that  he  ever  had  experienced — or  ever  would. 

Bowling  over  several  men  with  his  powerful  fists, 
and  hurling  another  upon  his  face  in  the  dust  and 
gravel  of  the  roadway,  the  fugitive  raced  like  a  mar- 
athon runner  for  the  river,  amid  a  hail  of  bullets 
from  every  official  that  was  within  range — or  who 
thought  he  was! 

Miss  Weatherson  sank,  half-fainting,  into  her 
father's  arms. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  GET  AWAY 

When  Duryea  returned  to  the  warden's  office  he 
found  Major  Donaldson  standing  by  the  front  win- 
dow, smoking  and  gazing  pensively  towards  the 
mountains.  The  Major  blew  the  clouds  of  fragrant 
smoke  towards  the  open  window,  where  they  lazily 
floated  in  the  warm  air  for  a  moment,  and  then  were 
dissipated,  like  the  unsubstantial  things  they  were, 
by  the  soft,  warm  breeze  that  was  gently  blowing 
up-river. 

The  door  was  open  and  the  young  man  entered 
without  knocking.  He  saw  by  the  clock  that  he  was 
in  for  a  call-down,  if  the  warden  was  not  in  a  pleas- 
ant mood,  for  the  secretary  had  been  away  for  a 
longer  time  than  even  good-nature  should  have  been 
expected  to  overlook  without  protest,  and  the  fact 
that  he  had  found  McCabe  more  than  usually  inter- 
esting would  not  have  been  accepted  as  a  reason- 
able excuse  for  his  remissness. 

The  chief  deputy  and  he  had  wrangled  over  the 
warden's  pet  theories  and  peculiar  methods  until 
both  men  were  on  edge  and  ready  to  fight  a  buzz- 
saw,  if  necessary  to  support  their  arguments.  They 
finally  compromised  on  the  consideration  of  some 
of  the  Major's  good  qualities — which  even  the  chief 
deputy  was  willing  to  concede — only  to  begin  all 
over  again.  McCabe  forgot  his  dinner  for  the  time 


THE  GET  AWAY  337 

being — which  was  bad,  and  the  secretary  forgot  the 
duties  of  his  office — which  was  worse.  As  Duryea 
ate  with  the  Major, who  liked  both  a  late  dinner  and 
company,  he  took  a  rather  unfair  advantage  of  Mc- 
Cabe. 

When  the  two  parted,  the  subjects  over  which 
they  wrangled  still  were  unsettled.  Like  the  im- 
mortal Omar,  each  had  * '  heard  great  argument  about 
it  and  about,"  yet  had  come  out  the  same  door 
wherein  he  went. 

The  chief  deputy  still  opposed  the  warden's  "dip- 
py" ideas,  although  he  admitted  that  the  Major 
had  redeeming  qualities  of  mind  which  likely  would 
save  him  from  going  completely  "nutty."  McCabe 
further  deposed  that  the  Major  had  a  good  heart, 
which  was  leavening  for  the  lump  of  his  monstrous- 
ly fallacious  theories  and  still  more  egeregiously 
mistaken  practices. 

Duryea,  as  usual,  contended  that  the  Major's  ideas 
were  logical,  and  his  methods  as  sound  as  his  heart 
was  warm  and  his  ideals  high. 

The  secretary  had  had  a  Christian  upbringing, 
but  he  plainly  demonstated  that,  while  he  still  had 
faith  in  a  Supreme  Being,  he  suspected  it  was  a  mis- 
take that  Major  Donaldson  had  not  been  given  charge 
of  the  universe  at  the  very  beginning  of  things — 
which  was  not  irreverence,  but  merely  an  appreci- 
ation. 

It  is  possible  that  no  compromise  between  McCabe 
and  Duryea  ever  would  have  been  possible  had  there 
not  been  a  common  ground  of  adverse  criticism  of 
the  Major.  Both  men  had  found  a  bit  irksome  the 
strict  military  etiquette  that  he  had  established.  Ev- 
en this  cause  of  complaint,  however,  was  facetiously 
treated  by  Duryea,  whilst  McCabe,  although  he 


338  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

growled  a  good  deal  at  the  "damn  nonsense"  of  it 
all,  set  it  down  as  the  least  objectionable  of  the 
various  phases  of  the  old  soldier's  mental  squint. 

As  the  warden  apparently  did  not  notice  his  sec- 
retary's entrance,  Duryea  discreetly  coughed  slight- 
ly to  announce  his  arrival.  He  was  rather  pleased 
than  otherwise  that  the  Major  did  not  hear  this 
signal.  He  rather  dreaded  the  call-down  that  was 
due  him  for  the  second  time  that  day,  and,  like  a 
criminal  under  capital  sentence,  he  welcomed  delay. 
None  of  us  likes  to  face  disagreeable  things — we  all 
stave  off  the  issue  as  long  as  we  possibly  can. 

"Well,"  he  thought,  as  he  went  to  his  desk  and 
quietly  seated  himself,  "this  will  help  some.  If  the 
dear  old  Major  had  about-faced  when  I  gave  him 
the  high  sign,  I'd  have  had  to  go  through  the  usual 
motions.  He'd  have  starched  me  stiff  with  military 
etiquette,  and  then  turned  the  hose  on  me  and  washed 
it  out.  'Half  a  loaf  is  better  than  no  loaf  when  a 
loafer  has  a  roast  coming  to  him. 

"Humph!"  muttered  the  young  fellow  to  himself, 
as  he  glanced  at  the  desk.  *  *  The  warden  has  plenty 
more  work  laid  out  for  me.  Wonder  where  he  dug 
it  all  up. ' ' — and  he  dove  into  the  papers,  meanwhile 
rattling  them  prodigiously. 

"That  you,  Duryea?"  inquired  the  Major,  finally 
awaking  from  his  revery,  but  without  turning 
around,  and  still  gazing  out  of  the  window. 

Y — yes,  sir,"  the  secretary  ventured,  mentally 
bracing  himself  for  the  anticipated  squall. 

But  the  storm  did  not  come.  The  Major  went  on 
with  his  day  dreams.  Presently  he  observed,  smil- 
ingly: 

"Do  you  know  what  I  was  thinking  of,  Howard!" 


THE  GET  AWAY  339 

"Haven't  the  least  idea,  sir,"  replied  Duryea, 
cheerfully,  his  spirits  beginning  to  rise.  ' '  Something 
about  prison  reform  methods,  perhaps." 

"Yes  and,  no,"  responded  the  Major,  slowly.  "I 
was  thinking  of  a  legend  I  once  heard,  of  an  old  sag- 
amore of  the  Iroquois ! 

"He  was  a  wise  old  man,  who,  like  the  chief  in  the 
Last  of  the  Mohicans,  had  seen  too  much,  had 
dreamed  dreams — and  had  lived  too  long. 

"The  venerable  sagamore  had  a  magic  calumet, 
that  he  used  to  smoke  as  the  evening  shadows  fell. 

"One  of  the  young  braves  was  wont  to  sit  at 
the  sagamore's  feet  and  gather  the  pearls  of  the  old 
man's  wisdom.  Noticing  that  he  blew  the  smoke  of 
the  calumet  in  fragrant  billows  always  toward  the 
west,  the  young  warrior  marveled. 

"  'Why,  0  father,'  he  asked,  'dost  thou  not  blow 
the  smoke  of  the  kilikinnic  toward  the  east?  Why 
ever  toward  the  west?' 

"  'Because  I  see  visions  in  the  smoke-clouds,  and 
I  like  not  those  that  I  see  in  the  east.  There  I  see 
only  the  fire  and  the  smoke  and  grime  of  the  white 
man's  lodges,  and  the  thunder  and  lightning  of  his 
war  canoes.  I  see  not  one  redman.  In  the  west  I 
see  nations  of  redmen,  moving,  ever  moving,  to- 
ward the  caverns  where  sinks  the  setting  sun.'  " 

The  Major  blew  a  great  cloud  of  smoke  from  his 
havana  through  the  steel  lattice  of  the  window,  and 
watched  it  as  it  slowly  floated  away  down  the  prison 
yard. 

"Beautiful  legend,  isn't  it,  Howard?" 

"Indeed  it  is,  sir,"  responded  the  secretary,  en- 
thusiastically. He  made  no  further  comment — he 
was  enjoying  the  warden's  mood  too  much  to  risk 


340  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

side-tracking  him — and  the  Major  continued  his  sen- 
timentalizing. 

"Well,  that  beautiful  legend  came  to  my  mind  as 
I  stood  here  smoking.  Like  the  old  sagamore,  I  do 
not  fancy  the  visions  I  see  in  the  east." 

He  turned  and  pointed  towards  the  windows  that 
opened  on  the  rear  of  the  prison  yard,  through 
which  Duryea  could  see  part  of  the  various  dreary- 
looking  buildings  that  were  enclosed  within  the  walls, 
and  plunged  into  one  of  his  homilies. 

"There  I  see  the  machinery  of  the  old  hide- 
bound social  regime,  that  has  marched  relent- 
lessy  on,  robbing  its  human  misfits  of  their  liberty 
or  shedding  their  blood,  as  if  it  were  the  strong 
man's  duty  to  discipline  his  weaker  brother  for  the 
evils  God  has  thrust  upon  him.  It  has  been  and  is 
a  reign  of  cruelty  and  ignorance,  in  which  the  dom- 
inant idea  has  been  to  punish  the  victims  of  God's 
handiwork  for  the  mistakes  of  their  Creator,  who, 
if  He  but  willed,  merely  by  a  wave  of  His  hand,  in 
the  minutest  fraction  of  a  second,  could  set  things 
right. — And,"  he  went  on,  "mankind  never  has  been 
able  to  see  the  absurdity  of  trying  to  render  justice 
to  Society  by  inflicting  injustice  on  the  individual 
victim  of  its  own  sins. 

"When  I  look  yonder,  toward  the  west,"  he  said, 
waving  his  hand  toward  the  opposite  bank  of  the 
river,  "I  see  both  nature  and  man  at  their  best. 

"Over  there  are  some  of  man's  concessions  to 
beauty  and  near-improvements  on  nature — those 
beautiful  villas  and  picturesque  farm  houses.  There, 
too,  are  the  river,  the  green  everlasting  hills  and  the 
turquoise  blue  of  the  sky,  that  call  me  sometimes, 
almost  irresistibly,  away  from  the  sordid,  miserable 
wreckage  that  man  has  made  of  man,  back  to  things 


THE  GET  AWAY  341 

primitive,  where  even  the  humblest  of  nature's  works 
is  beautiful. 

"Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,  my  boy,  that  all  of 
the  real  blots  on  this  dear  old  mud-and-green  world 
of  ours  have  been  made  by  man?" 

The  Major  did  not  wait  for  an  answer. 

"I  wonder,"  he  mused,  reflectively,  "just  what 
man  would  do  if  he  could  play  his  part  all  over 
again.  He'd  be  as  selfish  and  cruel  as  ever,  I  fear. 
I  think  I  know  what  the  Creator  would  do,  if  He 
were  to  do  His  own  work  all  over  from  the  begin- 
ning. He  'd  leave  man  entirely  out  of  His  scheme  of 
things." 

The  secretary  listened  with  rapt  attention  to  his 
chief's  homily,  but  smiled  a  little  at  his  decided 
pessimism. 

"Listen  to  that!"  exclaimed  the  warden. 

From  the  jail-yard  came  the  sound  of  hundreds 
of  shuffling,  scraping  feet,  plodding  their  spiritless 
way  along  the  stone  and  gravel  walks. 

The  Major  went  to  a  rear  window  overlooking  the 
yard,  and  motioned  to  Duryea  to  join  him.  The 
shuffling,  shambling  lines  of  leaden-faced  prisoners 
were  slowly  filing  at  lock-step  from  the  dining  hall 
on  the  way  back  to  the  cells,  from  which  shortly  they 
again  would  be  driven  forth  in  hideous,  crop-haired, 
striped  lines  to  the  stone-yard  and  the  various  work- 
shops to  resume  their  roles  of  beasts  of  burden  and 
of  toil. 

"See,"  said  the  warden,  "how  ingenious  we  are 
in  devising  means  to  defeat  our  own  ends !  There 
is  not  a  single  prison  custom  which  has  not  been 
stamped  on  the  minds  and  hearts  of  those  poor  dev- 
ils that  has  not  made  them  worse,  instead  of  better. 
Our  prison  system  pours  them  all  into  the  same 


342  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

mould — stamps  them  with  the  same  hall  mark.  The 
hardened  offender,  the  new  beginner — the  incurable 
and  the  curable — all  are  reduced  to  the  same  degrad- 
ed level.  The  State  immures  them  here  in  this  hell- 
hole instead  of  working  them  on  farms  and  roads  in 
the  open,  where  they  not  only  could  pay  their  own 
way,  but  be  physically  rejuvenated. 

"Do  you  see  that  boy  near  the  end  of  the  line 
nearest  us?"  interrogated  the  Major,  sadly.  "Well, 
that  case  alone  is  enough  to  damn  any  social  system 
that  would  permit  him  to  be  here. ' ' 

"Poor  little  chap!"  Duryea  exclaimed,  with  lively 
interest.  "I've  noticed  him  several  times  before. 
He's  a  new  arrival,  I  think.  I've  wondered  what  he 
was  in  for,  and  had  intended  to  look  up  his  record, 
but  forgot  it.  One  of  the  guards  said  the  lad  was 
in  for  murder,  but  what  the  guards  don't  know  about 
prisoners  would  fill  those  cabinets  of  ours  several 
times  over." 

"Well,"  said  the  Major,  ironically,  "for  once  a 
guard  was  right.  That  child  entered  the  institution 
a  few  days  ago,  to  begin  a  life  sentence  for  murder ! ' ' 

"Great  God!  Major,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that 
that  young  lad  really  did  commit  a  murder!" 

"Unfortunately,  yes,"  replied  the  Major,  gravely. 
"He  became  involved  in  a  quarrel  over  a  bad  woman 
— the  lowest  of  the  low.  The  boy  was  crazy  drunk, 
and  probably  had  a  very  hazy  consciousness  of  what 
he  was  doing.  And  they  punished  the  wrong  man ! ' ' 

"The  wrong  man,  Major?" 

"Yes,  the  wrong  man — the  fellow  who  sold  him 
the  whiskey  still  is  at  large.  Incidentally  no  one 
has  gone  gunning  for  the  authorities  who  issued  the 
real  murderer's  license,  nor  started  a  crusade  for 


THE  GET  AWAY  343 

the  protection  of  boys  from  the  Scarlet  Sisterhood. ' ' 

" Can't  you  make  a  trusty  of  him,  sir?" 

"He  will  assume  his  duties  as  doorkeeper  in  the 
hospital  tomorrow,"  rejoined  the  warden,  quietly. 

"There  are  men  in  that  line,"  he  went  on,  gloom- 
ily, "who  have  children  and  who,  when  they  are  set 
free,  will  breed  more  children,  that  will  have  crimin- 
ality in  their  veins  the  day  they  are  born.  The  State 
does  nothing  to  prevent  the  birth  of  such  social  mis- 
fits, nor  to  save  them  once  they  are  born.  The  grey- 
haired  man  just  behind  that  lad  is  a  lifer,  who  was 
sent  up  for  murder  from  our  own  home  town.  He 
left  a  decent  wife  and  six  beautiful  children  behind 
him.  The  State  is  doing  nothing  to  insure  their 
safety,  but  it  has  cells  ready  for  them  here  if  they 
go  wrong. 

"Howard,  my  boy,  that  hideous,  creeping,  shuf- 
fling, many-jointed  line  of  prisoners  is  devouring 
my  respect  for  my  fellow-man.  What  is  more,  it  is 
getting  on  my  nerves." 

One  of  the  prisoners  stumbled  and  was  forced 
out  of  alignment.  A  guard  sprang  at  him  and 
roughly  grasped  him  by  the  shoulder,  violently  push- 
ing him  back  into  place.  Had  not  one  of  his  fellow- 
convicts  caught  him,  he  would  have  fallen  on  his 
face  upon  the  flagging. 

"Damn  you,  No.  10! — close  up  there!"  bellowed 
the  guard,  ferociously.  "What  in  hell  are  ye  tryin' 
to  do,  you  infernal  lobster?  I '11  knock  yer  ugly  block 
off,  if  ye  're  not  damned  careful ! ' ' 

"Oh,  will  you?"  growled  the  warden  to  himself. 
"We  shall  see  about  that,  my  friend." 

He  turned  to  his  secretary  and  said,  quietly :  * '  Mr. 
Duryea,  see  that  Sullivan  reports  to  me  tomorrow 
morning.  I  wish  formally  to  take  up  with  him  the 


344  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

matter  of  knocking  the  'blocks'  off  our  prisoners. 
Possibly,  also,  I  may  have  something  to  say  about 
his  language. 

"What  can  one  man  alone  accomplish  against  a 
system  like  that?"  the  Major  resumed,  sighing  hope- 
lessly. "I  may  succeed  in  pounding  some  sense  and 
common  decency  into  that  guard,  but  that  will  be 
only  a  drop  of  reform  in  the  ocean  of  misery  that  has 
submerged  Society's  dregs. 

1 '  That  file  of  prisoners, ' '  he  went  on,  moodily,  * '  is 
only  one  among  thousands  upon  thousands  of  similar 
striped  monsters  that  are  gnawing  at  Society's  very 
heart." 

The  prisoners  shuffled  on,  the  two  men  watching 
with  thoughtful  eyes  the  long  files  of  unfortunates. 
As  the  last  of  the  convicts  were  entering  the  cell- 
houses  the  warden  turned  away  disgustedly. 

'  *  What  an  awful  tragedy ! "  he  exclaimed.  '  *  When 
will  Society  quit  piling  Pelion  upon  Ossa,  heaping 
mountains  of  degradation  on  those  who  already  are 
degraded  and  burying  them  so  deep  that  they  never 
can  rise  while  the  world  lasts?  When  will  Society 
try  to  make  men  better  instead  of  worse?  When 
will—" 

There  was  a  sudden  commotion  in  the  jail-yard. 

"Halt!    Stop  him!"  cried  several  voices. 

Two  shots  rang  out! 

The  guards  in  the  rear  of  the  file  of  prisoners 
quickly  hustled  them  into  the  cell-houses.  Other 
guards  were  seen  running  madly  towards  the  gate 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  jail  enclosure,  used  for  re- 
ceiving supplies  and  the  passage  of  wagons  loaded 
with  goods  manufactured  in  the  various  departments 
of  the  prison.  Several  sentries  sped  along  the  top 
of  the  wall  in  the  same  direction.  When  they  arrived 


THE  GET  AWAY  345 

in  the  vicinity  of  the  gate  they  began  pumping  lead 
as  rapidly  as  they  could  fill  chamber  and  pull  trig- 
ger, evidently  at  some  target  in  the  direction  of  the 
river. 

Major  Donaldson  and  Duryea  looked  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  disturbance.  As  they  did  so,  they  heard 
a  fusillade  of  shots  outside  the  prison  in  the  direc- 
tion in  which  the  sentries  had  fired,  and  saw  McCabe 
and  a  number  of  guards  running  swiftly  towards 
the  scene  of  the  commotion. 

The  sound  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  and  finally, 
with  what  was  distinctly  a  volley,  somewhere  along 
the  river,  abruptly  ceased. 

11  Another  poor  devil  breaking  jail!"  exclaimed 
the  Major,  grimly;  "another  case  for  the  hospital — 
or  the  morgue — with  more  trouble  for  yours  truly. ' ' 

The  two  men  were  about  to  rush  for  their  hats, 
with  the  intention  of  going  out  to  investigate,  when 
Duryea  exclaimed: 

"Look,  Major,  here  comes  McCabe!  A  lady  and 
a  gentleman  are  with  him ! ' ' 

The  Major  at  once  recognized  his  friends,  the 
Weathersons.  They  were  greatly  agitated  and  Mr. 
Weatherson  was  supporting  his  daughter,  who  ap- 
peared to  be  leaning  heavily  on  his  arm. 

"What  the  deuce!"  exclaimed  the  astonished  war- 
den, '  *  Howard,  go  and  meet  them  and  escort  them 
here  immediately !  Where  is  that  trusty,  I  wonder  ? ' ' 

The  secretary  obeyed  and  a  moment  later  the 
Weathersons  entered,  followed  closely  by  Duryea, 
McCabe  shamefacedly  bringing  up  the  rear. 

Mr.  Weatherson  was  endeavoring  to  calm  his 
daughter. 

"What  on  earth  has  happened  to  you,  'Lishe?" 
asked  the  warden. 


346  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Mr.  Weatherson  put  one  arm  around  his  daugh- 
ter's waist  and  with  the  other  gently  patted  her 
cheek. 

''Major,"  he  said,  calmly,  "I'm  afraid  we're  in 
for  a  blowing  up.  We've  lost  a  perfectly  good 
guide." 

"What!    Lost  your  guide?    Was  that— ?" 

"Your  'trusty'?  Yes,"  replied  his  friend,  dryly, 
"He  didn't  seem  to  like  our  company." 

"What's  up,  McCabe!"  inquired  the  Major,  anx- 
iously. 

The  chief  deputy  warden  nervously  mopped  his 
face  with  his  handkerchief. 

"A — a  prisoner  escaped,  sir,  a  trusty — No.  515. 
He — he  was  showin'  this  lady  an'  gentleman  around, 
an'  when  they  passed  the  gate  he  made  a  break  an' 
an ' well,  he  got  away ! ' ' 

1 1  How  did  that  gate  happen  to  be  open  at  this  time 
of  day,  McCabe  ? ' '  demanded  the  warden,  sternly. 

"One  o'  the  guards  had  just  opened  it  to  let  Mr. 
Hennessy  an'  a  couple  o'  his  friends  pass  through, 
sir.  Mr.  Hennessy  didn't  want  to  go  clear  back  to 
the  main  entrance,  an' — " 

"Oh,  I  see!"  interjected  the  Major,  sarcastically. 
"If  Mr.  Bull  Hennessy  wants  anything,  he's  just  got 
to  have  it — and  no  questions  asked.  I  trust  that  the 
guard  saved  the  gate." 

McCabe  looked  bewildered. 

"Go  on,"  commanded  the  Major,  gloomily. 

"Ye  see,  sir,"  continued  McCabe,  "as  No.  515 
was  a  trusty,  an'  was  showin'  your  friends  around, 
nobody  suspected  that  he'd  try  to  pull  off  a  get- 
away. The  guard  was  taken  by  surprise,  sir. ' ' 

"Evidently,"  said  the  warden,  satirically.  "Did 
you  round  up  the  prisoner?" 


THE  GET  AWAY  347 

"W — why,  n — no,  not  exactly,"  stammered  the 
now  throughly  demoralized  chief  deputy.  "Ye  see, 
sir,  the  guard  at  the  gate  fired — " 

1  *  That  guard  shot  twice  at  the  poor  man ! ' '  flashed 
Miss  Weatherson,  indignantly,  her  eyes  blazing  with 
resentment.  "He  ought  to  be  flogged — the  brute! 
Why  do  you  have  such  men  about  you,  Major  Don- 
aldson?" 

The  Major  was  too  seriously  preoccupied  to  re- 

piy- 

"He  was  hit,  sir,"  McCabe  went  on,  with  a  show 
of  assurance,  "but  that  didn't  stop  him.  One  o' 
the  guards  missed  him  clean,  but'  I'm  sure  the  other 
winged  him.  The  sentries  took  half  a  dozen  pot 
shots  at  him,  too.  He  ran  like  a  deer,  with  one  arm 
a-floppin';  he  doubled  behind  some  sheds  down  by 
the  river,  an'  jumped  inter  the  water  before  the 
guards  could  get  anywhere  near  him. 

"We  all  took  a  crack  at  him  in  the  water,"  he  con- 
tinued, defensively,  "an'  I'm  bettin'  we  got  him, 
all  right ;  for  when  we  come  to  the  bank  he  'd  sunk 
out  o'  sight,  an'  there  was  quite  a  lot  o'  blood  in 
the  water  where  he  went  down. ' ' 

Miss  Weatherson  could  hardly  contain  herself 
while  McCabe  was  telling  his  grewsome  story.  Her 
eyes  shot  baleful  lightnings  at  him,  and  if  fiery 
glances  had  been  bullets,  the  luckless  chief  deputy 
would  have  been  riddled,  then  and  there. 

As  the  official  ended  his  recital,  the  young  woman, 
with  accusing  finger,  sprang  towards  him  furiously, 

'  *  Murderer ! ' '  she  cried. 

Her  father  interposed  and  putting  his  arm  around 
her  waist  endeavored  to  calm  her. 

"Ss— sh!"  he  whispered.  "You  mustn't  forget 
yourself,  dear." 


348  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"I  am  not  so  sure  that  you  got  him,  Mr.  McCabe," 
asserted  the  warden,  with  the  evident  object  of  mol- 
lifying the  young  woman.  "He's  a  pretty  smart 
sort  of  a  chap,  and  may  have  played  'possum." 

"Don't  you  ever  believe  it,  sir,"  confidently  re- 
plied the  obtuse  McCabe.  "Why,  I  got  a  bead  on 
him  myself!  An' I'll  bet  I—" 

His  eye  met  the  blaze  in  Miss  Weatherson's,  and 
he  checked  himself  just  in  time. 

"Well,  anyway,"  continued  the  still  blundering 
McCabe,  "bein'  smart  don't  help  a  feller  much  when 
one  wing  is  busted  an'  his  lungs  is  chock  full  o'  old 
Hudson.  Oxygen's  worth  more'n  brains,  when  ye 're 
under  water. 

"An' — an'  there's — there's  somethin'  else  I've 
got  to  tell  ye,  sir, ' '  he  went  on,  apprehensively, ' '  Mr. 
Hennessy  got  in  the  prisoner's  way — tried  ter  stop 
him,  sir — an' — an'  the  feller  cracked  his  head  fer 
him." 

"Well,  here's  where  I  pack  my  trunk!"  said  the 
warden  to  himself.  "Hennessy  might  stand  for  the 
calling  down  I  gave  him,  but  never  for  a  cracked 
head." 

"We  sent  him  ter  the  hospital,  sir,"  McCabe  re- 
marked in  conclusion. 

"Served  him  good  and  right!"  said  Miss  Weather- 
son,  spunkily,  her  face  lighting  up  with  real  satis- 
faction. "He's  not  a  prison  official!" 

"Come,  come,  dear!"  whispered  the  father. 
"Neither  are  you." 

"So  Hennessy  is  in  the  hospital,  eh?"  remarked 
the  Major,  imperturbably.  "That's  bad,  very  bad! 
That  prisoner  certainly  was  rather  careless  in  his 
conduct.  What  did  he  hit  the  Boss  with,  and  how 
did  he  get  possession  of  the  weapon  I ' ' 


THE  GET  AWAY  349 

"With  this,  sir.  He  must  ha'  took  it  from  your 
desk." 

McCabe  drew  from  his  pocket  the  paper-weight 
which  the  escaping  prisoner  had  wielded  so  effective- 
ly, and  gave  it  to  the  warden. 

For  a  second  the  Major  looked  at  the  article  in 
blank  astonishment. 

"My  paper-weight!"  he  exclaimed.  "Well,  it 
seems  that  I'm  an  accessory  after  the  fact.  A 
Christmas  present,  too. 

"Is  the  Boss  seriously  hurt,  McCabe?"  he  quer- 
ied, as  he  reflectively  balanced  the  weight  in  his 
hand. 

"The  doctor  says  he  had  a  narrow  escape,  sir, 
but  his  skull  ain't  fractured,  an'  he'll  be  all  right 
tomorrow. ' ' 

The  Major  looked  at  the  paper-weight,  still  bal- 
ancing it  in  his  hand,  and  remarked,  abstractedly : 

"How  flimsy  all  this  Christmas  stuff  is!" 

"Shall  I  get  out  the  dogs,  sir?"  asked  McCabe. 

"No,  we  might  get  'em  wet,"  said  the  Major,  as 
he  carelessly  tossed  the  paper-weight  upon  the  desk. 
"Dogs  cost  money,  McCabe.  Have  the  river  pa- 
trolled, and  the  usual  dispatches  sent  to  the  police — 
and  let  it  go  at  that." 

McCabe  perceptibly  was  getting  wabbly. 

"B — but,  shan't  we  drag  the  river,  sir;  we  might 
» 

"No,"  answered  the  Major,  interrupting  the  chief 
deputy  by  an  impatient  wave  of  the  hand.  *  *  Every- 
body knows  we  're  good  shots.  Nobody  will  question 
what  probably  happened." 

McCabe  shrewdly  drew  the  conclusion  that  the 
warden  did  not  want  the  man-hunt  continued  or  the 
river  dragged  for  the  body,  simply  because,  if  the 


350  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

search  proved  unsuccessful,  these  measures  would  be 
a  tacit  admission  of  doubt  as  to  the  final  escape  of 
the  prisoner.  This,  he  thought,  obviously  was  a 
slight  sop  to  the  Cerberus  of  criticism.  Then,  too, 
he  believed  that  a  long-continued  man-hunt  would 
be  an  advertisement  for  the  management  of  Sing 
Sing  which  the  warden  and  his  subordinates  could 
ill  afford.  McCabe,  therefore,  was  rather  relieved 
by  his  superior's  stand-pat  attitude. 

The  chief  deputy  warden  was  only  partially  cor- 
rect in  his  conclusions.  The  Major's  motive  for  let- 
ting well-enough  alone  escaped  him.  The  method  of 
the  Major's  design  was  as  McCabe  cunningly  sur- 
mised. The  beneficiary  that  the  old  soldier  had  in 
mind  was,  however,  not  his  own  administration,  but 
the  late — or  at  least  now  somewhat  problematic — 
No.  515. 

Feeling  that  the  situation  was  tolerably  safe,  Mc- 
Cabe smiled  inwardly,  saluted  the  Major  and  was 
about  to  make  his  departure. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  Mr.  McCabe,"  said  the  warden, 
picking  up  the  paper-weight. 

The  chief  deputy  halted  and  saluted. 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  Major  proffered  him  the  paper-weight,  which 
he  took  mechanically,  glancing  bewilderedly  first  at 
the  paper-weight  and  then  at  his  chief,  and  dubiously 
shaking  his  head. 

"Have  that  useful  article  silver-mounted  for  me 
at  your  earliest  convenience,  McCabe,"  said  the  Ma- 
jor, with  the  suave  smile  and  the  politely  satirical 
inflection  of  which  he  was  master.  "When  it  is 
done,  deliver  it  at  my  private  quarters.  I  wish  to 
keep  it  where  it  will  not  be  dangerous  to  good  citi- 
zens. We  can  ill  afford  to  lose  such  distinguished 
men  as  Mr.  Hennessy." 


THE  GET  AWAY  351 

McCabe,  with  mouth  agape,  stood  looking  alter- 
nately at  the'  Major  and  the  weight,  until  the  war- 
den impatiently  waved  his  hand  as  an  indication 
that  his  subordinate  would  better  be  on  his  way.  As 
he  went  slowly  toward  the  door,  gazing  at  the  paper- 
weight with  a  puzzled  air  and  muttering  to  himself, 
the  warden  called  after  him: 

"Say,  McCabe,  don't  mind  expense!  Have  it 
charged  to  my  personal  account,  not  to  the  state. 
I  pay  for  my  own  luxuries  and  pleasures." 

Miss  Weatherson  had  listened  with  rapt  interest 
to  the  dialogue  between  the  warden  and  the  chief 
deputy.  She  was  not  sufficiently  worldly-wise  to 
analyze  either  the  Major's  motives  or  his  methods, 
but  she  was  overjoyed  when  she  found  that  there 
was  to  be  no  further  pursuit  of  the  fleeing  convict. 
Deep  down  in  her  breast  she  did  not  believe  the  man 
was  dead.  This  belief  was  not  founded  upon  any 
logicality  of  deduction — she  just  did  not  believe  it, 
that  was  all.  That  the  wish  was  father  to  the 
thought  goes  without  the  saying,  and  no  one,  prob- 
ably, will  quarrel  with  the  view  that  her  conclusion 
was  born  of  the  intuition  which  descended  to  her 
from  the  Countess  Eve,  who  doubtless  herself  had 
acquired  intuition  several  hours  before  she  arrived 
at  the  dignity  of  fig-leaves.  The  fact  that  in  the 
case  of  Eve's  daughters  intuition  and  fig-leaves  of 
various  styles  and  patterns  ever  since  have  been 
most  intimately  associated,  has,  of  course,  no  bearing 
on  the  events  of  this  story. 

The  chief  deputy  warden's  story  had  inspired 
Josephine  Weatherson  with  horror  and  disgust,  yet 
these  sentiments  were  so  tempered  with  joy  by  the 
thought  that,  after  all,  the  unfortunate  prisoner 


352  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

might  have  escaped,  that  the  shock  she  experienced 
from  listening  to  the  deputy  warden's  brutal  recital 
now  was  made  endurable. 

"The  poor  fellow!  I  hope  he  got  away!"  she  ex- 
claimed tearfully,  as  McCabe  disappeared  through 
the  door. 

"What!  A  murderer!"  exclaimed  the  Major, 
"And  you  hope  he  got  away?" 

"That  man  a  murderer!"  she  indignantly  pro- 
tested. "I  don't  believe  it!" 

"See  here,  my  dear  girl!"  expostulated  the  war- 
den, "you  are  dangerously  near  contempt  of  court. 
The  fellow  was  found  guilty." 

"Well,  all  the  same,  I  don't  believe  the  poor  young 
man  was  guilty,  and  I  hope  more  than  ever  that  he 
fooled  those  beastly  guards !  So  there,  now ! ' ' 

There  was  an  odd  expression  in  the  old  soldier's 
eyes,  as  he  turned  to  his  secretary. 

"Mr.  Duryea,"  he  said,  "kindly  close  that  door." 

"And  now,  young  woman,"  he  commanded,  with 
mock  gravity  and  a  pretense  of  brusquerie,  "kindly 
repeat  what  you  said  just  now. ' ' 

"Indeed  I  will!"  she  flashed  defiantly.  "I  said  I 
hoped  that  convict  got  away!" 

The  Major  stepped  closer  to  her  and  caught  the 
lobe  of  one  pink  ear  between  his  finger  and  thumb. 

"So  do  I,  my  dear,"  he  whispered,  so  loudly  that 
his  wisdom  in  ordering  his  secretary  to  shut  the 
door  became  evident. 

"Bully!"  exclaimed  Duryea,  clapping  his  hands 
in  glee. 

Miss  Weatherson  actually  bubbled  over  with  de- 
light, as  she  rushed  for  the  warden. 

"Now  I  will  kiss  you,  you  lovable  old  bear,  you!" 


THE  GET  AWAY  353 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  gave  him 
several  resounding  kisses  that  made  poor  Duryea's 
mouth  water.  Indeed,  the  young  man  felt  for  the 
moment  that  youth  had  no  privileges  which  ever 
need  excite  the  envy  of  the  dear  old  man. 

Major  Donaldson,  gasping  for  breath  and  ex- 
tremely fussed,  but  delighted  even  unto  the  sev- 
enth heaven,  disengaged  himself  and  sputtered : 

4 'Order  in  the  court!    Order,  I  say!" 

He  pounded  vigorously  on  the  desk,  whilst  he  was 
collecting  the  remnants  of  his  badly  shattered  offic- 
ial dignity. 

Duryea,  resting  first  on  one  leg  and  then  upon  the 
other,  stood  ostentatiously  looking  at  the  ceiling. 
He  finally,  discreetly,  but  it  must  be  admitted,  point- 
edly, coughed  behind  his  hand. 

The  warden  looked  up  with  a  start  and  glanced 
inquiringly  at  his  secretary.  His  kindly  eyes 
twinkled  with  comprehension,  and  amusement  at  the 
perennial  ' 'freshness"  and  assurance  of  youth, 
which  never  was  and  never  can  be  subordinated  by 
or  to,  anything  or  anybody. 

"Oh!  I  beg  pardon,  Howard. — Miss  Weatherson, 
permit  me  to  present  my  secretary,  Mr.  Duryea." 

The  Major  dabbed  his  brow  and  face  with  his 
handkerchief  and  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"You  will  excuse  my  inadvertence,  won't  you," 
he  said,  with  his  characteristic  courtesy.  "I — well, 
I'm  getting  old,  I  guess,  and — and  I've  had  a  rather 
strenuous  morning,  and — and  you  understand,  I'm 
quite  sure." 

With  affectionate  emotion  they  could  not  quite 
conceal,  and  of  which  they  were  unashamed,  Dur- 
yea and  the  Weathersons  assured  the  grand  old  man 
that  they  quite  "understood." 


354  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Come,"  said  the  Major,  gayly,  glancing  at  the 
time  and  now  quite  sure  of  himself;  "let's  go  to 


BOOK  III 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  ARGONAUT 

The  stage  line  from  Bismarck  to  Deadwood,  Da- 
kota, in  the  late  "  seventies, "  was  a  cosmopolitan 
* '  common  carrier. ' '  On  most  of  its  trips,  an  observ- 
ant passenger  might  have  fancied  himself  a  partic- 
ipant in  a  traveling  congress  of  nations. 

With  the  discovery  of  the  precious  metal  in  the 
Black  Hills,  in  1874,  the  gold  fever  struck  the  ter- 
ritory of  Dakota  and,  true  to  form  in  the  history  of 
gold  discovery,  had  called  from  the  four  corners  of 
the  earth  a  horde  of  delvers  and  diggers  after  the 
yellow  stuff. 

Argonauts  old  and  Argonauts  new,  venerable  Ja- 
sons  who  had  sought  the  golden  fleece  in  California 
in  '49 ;  middle-aged  fortune  hunters  who  had  engaged 
in  the  quest  of  the  auriferous  earth  in  far-off  Aus- 
tralia, or  tramped  under  the  banner  of  "Pike's  Peak 
or  Bust ; ' '  youthful  gold-seekers  who  made  up  in  en- 
thusiasm and  greed  what  they  so  woefully  lacked  in 
experience — all  set  their  faces  toward  the  "land  of 
the  Dakotahs,"  where  lay  the  pot  of  gold  at  the  foot 
of  the  rainbow. 

Eainbow-chasers  are  temperamentally  the  same 
the  world  over.  One  touch  of  Mammon  makes  the 
whole  world  kin.  The  sturdy  Englishman  and  his 
neighbors — the  aggressive,  fighting,  laughing  Irish- 
man and  the  canny,  burr-tongued  Scot;  the  volatile 


358  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Frenchman  and  his  dearest  foe,  the  phlegmatic  Ger- 
man ;  the  dark-eyed,  dark-skinned  Latin  from  sunny 
Spain  or  fair  Italia ;  the  flaxen-haired,  pink-cheeked 
Scandinavian,  perchance  from  the  land  of  the  mid- 
night sun ;  the  nondescript  American  in  all  his  infi- 
nite variety — there  is  no  country  on  the  globe  that 
has  not  furnished  its  quota  of  Argonauts  wherever 
the  news  of  gold-discovery  has  spread  over  the 
world,  and  these  men  ever  have  been  brothers  in 
arms. 

Dakota  received  its  full  share  of  Argonauts  from 
everywhere — and  from  "nowhere,"  if  it  so  happened 
that,  for  private  and  personal  reasons,  one  did  not 
choose  to  publicly  advertise  his  home  and  patrony- 
mic— and  these  gold-seekers  all  rode  in  the  Dead- 
wood  stage. 

Those  who  have  traveled  on  the  American  fron- 
tier probably  will  bear  witness  that  none  of  the  pas- 
sengers on  the  old-time  stage  patronized  that  ven- 
erable conveyance  as  a  matter  of  choice.  When  a 
fellow  had  to  get  somewhere  and  had  no  horse,  or 
couldn't  ride  if  he  had  one,  he  traveled  as  best  he 
might. 

Of  course,  the  ancient  vehicle  was  uncomfortable 
— mightily  so — but  then,  having  made  a  virtue  of 
necessity,  it  was  a  great  privilege  to  romance  about 
it  in  after  years. 

It  always  has  been  the  delight  of  the  gentle  pio- 
neer of  early  days  to  regale  his  fellow-travelers 
in  the  smoking  room  of  the  modern  luxurious  Pull- 
man, with  stories  of  the  "days  of  old  and  the  land  of 
gold,"  when  the  giants  of  those  days — of  whom  the 
raconteur^  of  course,  was  one— drove  so  gallantly 
into  the  mining  camp  in  one  of  those  crazy  old  stages. 
The  modest  hero  paints  the  rickety  old-time  horror 


THE  ARGONAUT  359 

in  wonderful  colors  that  make  the  modern  palace  on 
wheels  blush  for  its  own  measly  inferiority,  and 
invests  the  ancient  machine  of  torture  with  a  piece 
of  the  brilliant  halo  with  which  he  so  ingenuously  has 
decorated  himself. 

The  dear  old  modern  replica  of  the  late  Baron 
Miinchausen,  most  distinguished  Peer  of  the  Court 
of  Ananias,  now  proceeds  to  tell  us  how  little  he 
had  of  this  world's  goods  when  he  descended  on  that 
mining  camp,  and  what  oodles  of  golden  nuggets, 
and  bars,  and  placer-dust  he  brought  away  with 
him.  He  may  even  tell  one  of  the  strain  upon  the 
springs  of  the  stage  produced  by  his  sacks  of  the 
yellow  metal  on  the  way  out  of  the  diggings,  states- 
ward  bound. 

Perchance  the  pioneer  of  ancient  days  tells  of  that 
thrilling  hold-up,  in  which  the  Wells-Fargo  messen- 
ger was  afraid  to  shoot,  whereas  he,  single-handed 
and  alone,  dispersed  a  gang  of  road-agents  that 
would  have  made  a  modern  rogues '  gallery  look  like 
the  old-fashioned  panoramic  pictures  of  the  heavenly 
angels  in  Paradise  Lost!  Should  he  tell  you  of 
these  things,  kind  reader,  have  faith — of  that  sublime 
quality  which  moveth  mountains. 

However  much  of  faith  you  may  have,  dear  sir — 
or  madam,  'tis  but  the  rankest  skepticism  beside  that 
which  has  impelled  the  Argonaut  of  all  times  and  all 
nations  to  the  quest  of  golden  fortune. 

A  health  to  thee,  brave  Argonaut !  In  thy  sturdy 
bosom  dwell  the  three  graces,  Faith,  Hope  and  Char- 
ity— and  the  greatest  of  these  is  Faith.  Thou  hast 
made  little  of  fortune,  but  since  the  world  was  young, 
thou  hast  been  the  frontiersman  of  prosperous  and 
peaceful  civilization  and  the  father  of  progress. 
May  the  ring  of  thy  pick  and  the  tintintabulation 


360  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

of  thy  pan  be  music  to  the  ears  of  mankind  when 
the  world  has  passed  into  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf. 

Late  of  a  pleasant,  warm  afternoon  in  May,  1878, 
the  incoming  Deadwood  stage  discharged  its  usual 
miscellaneous  and  cosmopolitan  load  of  passengers 
in  front  of  the  rude  post-office  of  the  enterprising 
mining  town. 

The  inevitable  crowd  of  idlers  that  loitered  about 
the  place,  languidly  surveyed  the  passengers  as 
they  descended  from  the  overloaded  vehicle. 

The  tired,  perspiring,  unkempt  passengers  were  so 
heavily  covered  with  dust  that  they  presented  a  ho- 
mogeneity of  appearance  which  quite  concealed  their 
racial,  social  and  economic  differences. 

There  rarely  was  any  novelty  among  the  new  ar- 
rivals. They  afforded  the  loungers  little  entertain- 
ment save  that  of  watching  the  thirsty  strangers  as 
they  hiked  for  the  numerous  saloons  grouped  around 
the  post-office  on  the  main  street  of  the  town. 

Everybody's  throat  was  thickly  lined  with  road 
dust,  and  nobody  was  supposed  to  have  a  bias  in 
favor  of  any  particular  saloon.  The  town  was  unfa- 
miliar, the  new-comers  had  yet  to  be  educated  in 
the  matter  of  who  gave  the  most  ''suds"  for  the 
money,  or  was  least  alert  when  a  fellow  poured  his 
libation  from  the  common  bottle  into  the  glass, 
which  the  initiated  so  discreetly  covered  with  their 
hands  as  the  liquor  gurgled  into  the  all-too-shallow 
receptacles.  Later  they  would  get  their  bearings, 
and  some  of  them  discriminatingly  would  patronize 
those  refectories  in  which  the  bar-keepers  were  most 
urbane,  considerate  enough  to  look  the  other  way 
when  a  "gent"  poured  out  the  "red,"  and  who  nev- 


THE  ABGONAUT  361 

er  handed  a  significant  towel  to  a  thirsty  patron 
simultaneously  with  his  glass. 

With  most  new  arrivals  it  merely  was  a  case  of 
"go  to  it!"  The  nearest  bar  was  the  best  bar,  and 
the  one  that  first  caught  the  eye  of  the  dust-choked 
stranger  always  was  the  " nearest." 

The  Miners'  Eest,  a  rude,  wooden,  two-story  af- 
fair just  across  the  street  from  the  post-office,  was 
literally  what  the  late  William  Shakespeare,  nee 
Lord  Bacon,  and  other  notables  of  the  chaste  and 
virtuous  Elizabethan  era,  would  have  called  "an 
hostelry  hard  by."  It  was  so  "hard  by"  that  it 
received  more  than  its  share  of  the  patronage  of 
Deadwood's  thirsty  and  hungry  new  arrivals.  It 
was  run  by  one  McGinnis,  who  claimed  lineage  by 
direct  descent  from  Brian  Boru — "an'  a  dozen  more 
o'  the  likes  o'  thim"  ancient  Celts. 

Eumor  had  it  that  convenience  of  location  alone 
was  not  responsible  for  the  rush  of  eager  sojourners 
to  the  Miners '  Eest.  It  was  said  by  envious  compet- 
itors that  sundry  perquisites  fell  into  the  hands  of 
Bill  Harkins,  the  veteran  driver  of  the  stage,  but 
this  could  not  have  been  true,  for  the  reason  that 
the  assumed  parties  to  the  alleged  transaction  both 
denied  it,  and  they  were  the  only  persons  qualified 
to  speak  with  authority  upon  the  subject. 

Bill  Harkins  was  a  "two-gun-man"  from  some- 
where or  other,  who  had  acquired  his  job  of  stage 
driving  by  virtue  of  the  frontier  wisdom  of  the 
Wells-Fargo  outfit.  The  express  company  had  more 
confidence  in  the  safety  of  the  stage  with  Bill  on  the 
box  than  they  would  have  had  if  he  were  ranging 
free.  Knowing  something  of  his  history,  they  had 
no  confidence  in  anybody's  ability  to  get  the  stage 
to  its  destination  without  mishap,  so  long  as  the 


362  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

genial  William  was  running  loose.  His  munificent 
salary  had  a  liberal  bonus  attached  to  it,  but  the 
express  company  considered  Bill  cheap  at  almost 
any  figure  within  reason. 

Joe  McGinnis,  the  genial  boniface  of  the  Miners' 
Best,  was  himself  "some  quick  on  the  draw."  In 
addition  to  this  strictly  martial  and  orthodox  ac- 
complishment, he  was  about  as  handy  as  they  made 
them  in  a  rough-and-tumble  "argument."  As  ex- 
pressed by  a  gentleman  who  had  been  so  indiscreet 
as  to  get  into  an  altercation  with  Mr.  McGinnis 
relative  to  a  personal  score  on  the  slate,  one  of  Joe 's 
fists  was  "knock-out-drops"  and  the  other  "con- 
cussion o'  the  brain." 

Noting  the  talents  of  the  doughty  Harkins  and  the 
versatile  McGinnis,  the  conservative  attitude  of  the 
citizens  of  Deadwood  toward  all  rumors  of  petty 
graft  involving  the  two  gentlemen  may  readily  be 
understood. 

Among  the  passengers  that  afternoon  was  a  tall, 
dark-eyed,  dark-haired,  athletic-looking  young  man, 
apparently  not  yet  in  his  thirties.  His  face  was  cov- 
ered with  a  dark  brown  beard  and  mustache,  evi- 
dently of  recent  growth.  He  was  plainly,  indeed, 
roughly  dressed,  and  covered  with  more  than  his 
share  of  road-dust,  which  bore  evidence  of  the  dis- 
comfort of  his  long  stage  drive. 

The  rest  of  the  new  arrivals  disembarked,  went 
their  several  ways  and  the  now  empty  stage  was 
driven  across  the  way  to  the  Miners'  Rest,  where  the 
driver  unharnessed  his  horses  and  hitched  them  to 
the  rack  in  the  horse-shed.  Bill  then  repaired  to 
the  bar  of  the  hotel  and  proceeded  to  refresh  himself 


THE  ARGONAUT  363 

by  copious  libations  to  Bacchus,  much  to  the  delight 
of  his  old  crony,  McGinnis. 

The  young  man  was  left  standing  alone  among 
the  loungers  at  the  postoffice.  He  stood  irresolutely 
looking  about  him  for  a  moment  and  then,  noting 
that  the  stage  had  been  driven  into  the  horse-shed 
of  the  Miners '  Best,  turned  inquiringly  to  the  party 
of  idlers : 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  he  smilingly  remarked,  "I 
presume  that  the  safest  plan  for  a  stranger  who 
has  not  engaged  hotel  accommodations  is  to  follow 
the  stage." 

"Betcher  life,"  replied  one  of  the  crowd.  "Fol- 
ler  Bill  Harkins  an'  ye '11  wear  diamonds — an'  maybe 
round  up  a  drink." 

"All  right,  boys,"  laughed  the  stranger.  "That 
endorsement  is  good  enough  for  me,  but  if  I  strike 
some  good  grub  and  a  soft  bed,  I'll  let  Mr.  Harkins 
have  the  diamonds  and  the  liquor  all  to  himself." 

"Ye  can  git  both,  at  McGinnis 's  wickiup,"  said 
another  of  the  crowd. 

"Thank  you,  sir.  I'll  go  to  it,"  said  the  new- 
comer, genially. 

The  young  man  crossed  the  street,  followed  by  the 
gaze  of  the  party  of  loiterers,  and  entered  the  Min- 
ers '  Best. 

"A  real  feller,  that,  an'  he  looks  like  a  game-cock, 
all  right, ' '  remarked  one  man.  "Look  at  them  shoul- 
ders, boys !  I'll  bet  he's  got  a  punch  in  either  hand." 

"Which  don't  get  him  nothin'  in  these  diggin's," 
snapped  a  grizzled  old-timer  whom  the  town  knew 
as  Dixie,  his  real  patronymic  being  a  mystery,  and 
his  native  heath,  according  to  his  own  statements, 
being  the  grand  old  state  of  Kentucky. 


364  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Little  ole  Mister  Colt  has  brung  all  kinds  o '  shoul- 
ders down  ter  the  same  size,  in  this  neck  o'  the 
woods,"  he  growled,  "an'  speakin'  o'  punches,  a  .44 
rags  the  bush.  It's  safe  to  bet  that  that  feller's 

one  o'  them  d d  college  dudes.  It's  ten  dollars 

to  two  bits  that  he  smokes  cigaroots." 

"Well,  all  the  same,  he  looks  good  to  me,"  insist- 
ed the  first  speaker." 

"Maybe  he  won't  look  so  good  after  he's  been 
broke  in,"  sneered  Dixie. 

"So?  S'pose  you  appint  yerself  a  committee  o' 
one  ter  break  him  in, ' '  retorted  the  other. 

"All  right,  pardner,  I  got  ye,"  said  Dixie,  grimly, 
"I'm  appinted  right  now,  an'  here's  my  badge." 
He  significantly  tapped  his  revolver  butt. 

"Better  go  slow,  old  hoss,"  warned  another  of 
the  crowd.  "Some  tenderfoot's  a  goin'  ter  give  ye 
a  s 'prise  party,  one  o'  these  fine  days. 

"P'raps,"  growled  the  Kentuckian,  truculently, 
"but  I've  got  a  perfectly  good  hunch  that  that  par- 
tic 'lar  tenderfoot  hain't  struck  this  town  yet — not  by 
a  great  big  damn  sight." 

The  stranger  entered  the  door  of  the  hotel  and 
glanced  curiously  about  him.  Inexperienced  as  he 
was  in  the  ways  of  the  far  west,  the  combined  office 
and  bar-room  of  the  Miner's  Rest  was  to  him  a  novel 
and  most  interesting  spectacle. 

A  cheap,  unplastered  interior,  ceiled  with  rough, 
matched  boards.  At  one  side  of  the  room  was  a 
long  pine  bar.  Behind  the  bar  was  the  usual  cheap 
mirror  seen  in  saloons  of  the  less  pretentious  sort, 
backing  a  shelf  decorated  with  bottles,  glasses  and 
tumblers,  the  thickness  of  which  suggested  that  dur- 
ability in  times  of  stress  and  riotous  disorder,  rather 
than  artistic  form  and  construction,  was  their  most 


THE  ABGONAUT  365 

useful  quality.  In  a  conspicuous  position  on  the 
mirror  was  a  placard  reading,  NO  TICK.  Above 
the  glass  in  plain  sight  hung  a  repeating  rifle.  On 
the  shelf  below  it  lay  a  huge  revolver. 

The  display  of  weapons  was  not  as  ingenuous  as 
it  seemed,  for  within  easy  reach  on  a  narrow  shelf 
beneath  the  bar,  was  another  six-shooter.  This  ar- 
rangement was  a  most  convenient  one,  as  it  enabled 
the  man  behind  the  bar  to  surprise  a  disorderly 
customer,  who  was  likely  to  fix  his  attention  upon 
the  openly-displayed  arsenal,  thus  leaving  himself 
open  to  the  persuasive  argument  of  the  unexpected 
gun. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  separated  by  a 
large  screen  from  the  bar-room  proper,  was  a  small 
counter,  behind  which  was  painted  in  rude  letters 
the  inscription,  OFFICE.  Just  above  this  sign  was 
a  framed  embroidered  motto,  GOD  BLESS  OUR 
HOME. 

Near  the  "office"  desk  in  the  corner  of  the  room 
was  a  stairway,  leading  to  the  upper  part  of  the 
house.  Beneath  the  stairs,  in  one  corner  of  the 
office,  was  a  crude,  rusty  iron  safe  of  medium  size. 
Both  the  office  and  the  bar-room  were  accessible  from 
the  street  by  a  double  store  door,  so  arranged  that 
persons  entering  the  hotel  could  take  their  choice 
of  sides  of  the  screen. 

The  floor  of  the  bar-room  was  thickly  covered 
with  saw-dust  and  ornamented  with  wooden,  saw- 
dust-filled "spit-boxes,"  in  multiplicity  and  great 
variety  of  form. 

The  walls  of  the  bar-room  weite  covered  with 
cheap,  gaudy  prints — portraits  of  actresses  and  race- 
horses and  pictures  of  prize-fights.  On  the  walls  of 


366  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

the  office  were  several  biblical  scenes  and  highly- 
colored  landscape  chromos. 

The  entire  place  was  lighted  with  enormous  coal- 
oil  lamps,  the  chimneys  of  which  were  much  the 
worse  for  soot  and  sundry  cracks  and  nicks. 

Scattered  about  the  room  were  a  number  of  plain 
wooden  tables,  flanked  by  stout,  clumsy  chairs.  In 
the  office  stood  an  old-fashioned  what-not,  center 
table,  and  a  horsehair-covered  sofa  and  chairs. 

The  palpable  effort  that  had  been  made  to  draw 
an  ethical,  moral  and  artistic  dead-line  between  the 
"booze-parlor"  and  the  hotel  feature  of  the  estab- 
lishment was  so  comical  that  the  stranger  very  near- 
ly laughed  outright. 

Standing  at  the  bar  were  a  number  of  the  young 
man's  fellow-passengers,  whom  a  large,  perspiring, 
red-faced  man  of  perhaps  fifty  years  of  age,  in  his 
shirt  sleeves,  assisted  by  a  burly  negro,  as  black  as 
anything  Africa  ever  produced,  was  endeavoring  to 
serve  with  beverages. 

The  stranger  was  about  to  enter  the  bar-room, 
but  noting  that  the  two  men  behind  the  bar  were 
having  considerable  trouble  in  handling  the  rush,  had 
concluded  to  wait  until  there  was  a  lull  in  business 
before  negotiating  for  accommodations  with  the  red- 
faced  party — who  manifestly  was  the  proprietor  of 
the  hostelry — when  a  muscular,  strenuous-looking 
middle-aged  woman  came  down  the  stairs  and  bustled 
into  the  office  in  a  business-like  way  which  suggested 
that  she  decidedly  "belonged." 

The  young  man  approached  the  desk  and  doffing 
his  hat  said  politely: 

"You  are  the  proprietress  of  the  hotel,  I  pre- 
sume. ' ' 


THE  ARGONAUT  367 

The  woman  looked  at  him  for  a  second  before 
replying. 

"I'm  Mrs.  McGinnis,  an'  I'm  nmnin'  this  hotel, 
if  that's  pfwat  yez  mane." 

"That  is  precisely  what  I  mean,  madam,"  he  re- 
plied, amusedly. 

"Then  for  pfwy  don't  yez  say  so  in  plain  Eng- 
lish?" 

"Pardon  me,  madam,  I'm  a  foreigner  from  the 
east,  and  I  haven't  been  here  long  enough  to  learn 
the  language." 

The  woman  burst  out  laughing. 

"I  guess  ye 'II  do,  all  right,  Misther.  Pfwat  can 
I  do  fer  yez?" 

The  stranger  courteously  made  known  his  desire 
for  accommodations  and  Mrs.  McGinnis  pushed  to- 
ward him  a  battered,  time-worn  register,  in  which 
he  inscribed  the  name,  "Robert  Parker." 

"Where's  yer  baggage,  Misther  Parker?"  in- 
quired the  hostess. 

"It  still  is  on  the  stage,  madam." 

"Well,  son,  as  soon  as  that  lazy  nayger,  Sam,  gits 
a  breathin'  spell,  I'll  have  him  fetch  it  up  fer  yez." 

She  went  to  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  and  called : 

"Ellen,  dear!" 

"Yes,  mother,"  answered  a  sweet  voice  from 
above,  and  a  pretty,  apple-cheeked  lass  of  sixteen 
or  thereabouts,  came  tripping  down  the  stairs. 

"This  is  me  daughther,  Ellen,  Misther  Parker." 

Parker  bowed  and  smiled  an  acknowledgment  of 
the  introduction.  The  girl  curtsied  and  blushed 
most  charmingly. 

Mrs.  McGinnis  took  a  key  from  the  rack. 

"Ellen  '11  be  afther  showin'  ye  to  yer  room,  sorr." 


368  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

She  look  admiringly  after  the  stranger  as  he  fol- 
lowed her  daughter  upstairs. 

"A  foine  young  feller,  that,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"and,"  she  chuckled,  "he's  nobody's  fool,  if  inny- 
body  should  ask  ye.  He'll  be  afther  learnin'  the 
ways  o'  this  town  pretty  quick,  I'm  thinkin',  an' 
this  house  sure  is  the  place  to  learn  'em. ' ' 

The  girl  conducted  the  new  guest  to  his  room  and 
after  naively  instructing  him  in  the  matter  of  the 
hours  for  meals,  with  especial  emphasis  on  the  time 
when  the  rising  bell  was  rung  of  mornings,  disap- 
peared. 

The  young  man  proceeded  to  remove  the  stains  of 
dust  and  travel  from  his  person,  sighing  the  while 
for  the  cold  tub  of  the  effete  east.  Hardly  had  he 
completed  his  toilet  when  the  supper  bell  rang.  As 
he  was  voraciously  hungry  the  sound  was  sweet 
music  to  his  ears. 

At  the  supper  table  Parker  found  a  motley  collec- 
tion of  the  population  of  Deadwood,  and  a  number 
of  his  stage-companions.  These  latter  greeted  him 
cordially. 

Mrs.  McGinnis  introduced  the  new  boarders  to 
McGinnis,  who  in  turn  gave  each  of  them  an  intro- 
duction to  the  old  boarders  collectively. 

Save  Mrs.  McGinnis  and  her  daughter,  the  only 
member  of  the  fair  sex  at  the  table  was  a  prim, 
bespectacled  woman  of  attenuated  proportions  and 
uncertain  age.  This  austere  and  unprepossessing 
person  was  a  Yankee  schoolma  'am,  from  Boston  or 
thereabouts.  For  only  two  months  had  she  been 
teaching  the  Deadwood  young  idea  to  shoot,  and  al- 
ready having  discovered  that  the  Black  Hills'  idea 
had  rather  too  much  "shoot"  in  it,  had  resigned  her 


THE  ARGONAUT  369 

job  and  was  preparing  to  return  to  the  land  of  beans, 
brains  and  Bunker  Hill. 

Not  even  the  scarcity  of  respectable  women  in 
the  town  had  impelled  anyone  of  the  male  sex  to 
tempt  the  lady  to  remain  permanently  in  Deadwopd. 
Her  face  was  at  once  a  defense  and  a  stumbling 
block  in  her  way  through  life.  Her  disposition  evi- 
dently had  fermented  into  acid  in  her  youth,  and 
she  ever  since  had  taken  herself  and  the  world  so 
seriously  that  the  acidity  had  become  chronic. 

Noting  the  rough  appearance  of  most  of  the  guests, 
the  new  boarder  marveled  at  the  decorum  that  pre- 
vailed at  the  table.  A  longer  acquaintance  with  the 
McGinnises,  and  especially  with  the  hostess,  explained 
this  quite  satisfactorily.  Under  the  persuasive  in- 
fluence of  Mrs.  McGinnis's  tongue  and  the  prestige 
of  her  husband's  iron  fists  and  ready  gun,  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  dining  room  was  all  that  could  have  been 
desired  by  the  most  fastidious. 

The  meal  ended,  Parker  took  a  stroll  about  the 
town.  He  never  before  had  been  in  the  far  west, 
and  therefore  was  greatly  interested  in  everything 
that  he  saw.  The  newness  and  "  hustle  of  the  place  es- 
pecially impressed  him.  The  men  all  wore  a  breezy, 
devil-may-care  expression  and  moved  with  a  ''slap- 
dash" air  that  always  has  characterized  the  inhabit- 
ants of  pioneer  mining  towns.  Even  the  least  pros- 
perous-looking persons  whom  he  met,  appeared  to 
the  young  man  to  be  imbued  with  the  characteristic 
spirit  of  the  place.  Many  of  the  people  were  as 
amusing  as  they  were  interesting. 

The  stranger  noted  that,  as  is  usual  in  mining 
communities,  women  were  comparatively  scarce.  He 
noticed,  also,  that  the  women  of  Deadwood  comprised 
only  two  classes — the  good  and  the  bad.  The  defer- 


370  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

ence  shown  by  the  men  to  the  one,  and  the  lack  of 
it  exhibited  toward  the  other,  made  the  dividing  line 
easy  to  distinguish,  as  always  has  been  the  case 
on  the  American  frontier. 

The  vanguard  of  American  civilization,  unlike  the 
people  of  more  pretentious  communities,  never 
permitted  any  compromise  in  the  classification  of  its 
women.  Woe  to  the  man  who  did  not  understand 
the  principle  underlying  the  arbitrary  demarkation 
between  virtue  and  vice,  and  was  rash  enough  to 
cross  the  dead-line ! 

There  never  was  any  argument  when  a  virtuous 
woman  was  insulted.  The  western  pioneer  carried 
his  lawyer  in  his  holster,  and  the  advocate  never  was 
wordy,  nor  given  to  wasting  time  by  mouthing  tech- 
nicalities. 

The  young  man  noted  with  special  interest  the 
great  number  of  saloons,  in  every  one  of  which  he 
could  see  through  the  wide-open  doors  men  sitting 
at  tables  engaged  in  gambling.  To  an  easterner 
who  did  not  understand  the  psychology  of  a  peo- 
ple who,  remote  from  the  diversions  of  older  centers 
of  civilization,  must  of  necessity  seek  relaxation  as 
best  they  might,  the  thirst  of  the  pioneer  for  whiskey 
and  the  popularity  of  gambling  were  incomprehen- 
sible. 

The  new  arrival  came  to  understand  later  that 
the  pioneer  spirit  always  is  feverish  and  has  an  un- 
derlying stratum  of  recklessness  and  an  eagerness 
for  alliance  with  chance.  The  man  who  is  willing 
to  stake  his  life  in  the  game  of  fortune,  is  prone 
to  stake  his  substance  on  the  turn  of  a  card,  especial- 
ly when  time  weighs  heavily  on  his  hands. 

Having  completed  his  leisurely  tour  of  the  town, 


THE  ABGONAUT  371 

Parker  sauntered  back  to  the  hotel  and  entered  the 
bar-room. 

The  room  was  filled  with  rough-looking  men,  most 
of  whom  were  miners.  A  number  were  lined  up  at 
the  bar;  some  were  sitting  at  the  tables,  at  nearly 
all  of  which  the  game  of  poker  was  in  progress. 
Among  those  playing  were  several  genteel-looking 
persons  who  obviously  were  professional  gamblers. 

The  majority  of  the  men  in  the  room  wore  belts 
and  holsters  in  which  were  guns  of  a  caliber  sug- 
gesting that  Deadwood  already  had  organized  an 
Ancient  and  Honorable  Artillery  Company  in  imita- 
tion of  that  center  of  all  things  worthy  of  imitation — 
Boston. 

At  one  of  the  tables  several  of  Parker's  traveling 
companions  were  sitting,  contentedly  sipping  their 
beer  or  drinking  whisky  and  curiously  surveying 
the  novel  scene  in  the  room.  There  was  a  vacant 
chair  at  the  table  and,  noticing  Parker,  one  of  the 
men  motioned  to  him  to  join  them,  an  invitation 
which  he  gladly  accepted. 

The  young  man  ordered  a  bottle  of  soda,  which 
Sam,  who  was  wildly  flying  about  the  room  in  a  vain 
effort  to  wait  on  everybody  at  once,  served  him  with 
an  air  of  mingled  pity  and  distrust. 

In  the  crowd  at  the  bar  stood  Dixie,  a  bit  the 
worse  for  numerous  libations  of  " red-eye."  In  the 
midst  of  a  toast  to  everything  and  everybody,  he 
chanced  to  observe  Parker,  and  in  a  hazy  way  re- 
called the  conversation  with  his  friend  regarding 
the  stranger  on  his  arrival  that  afternoon.  The  min- 
er abruptly  set  his  glass  of  whisky  down  upon  the  bar 
and  unsteadily  made  his  way  to  the  table  where  the 
new-comer  was  sitting. 

Now,  at  bottom,  Dixie  really  was  a  very  good  sort, 


372  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

but  his  fellow-miner  practically  had  challenged  his 
courage  that  afternoon,  and  his  whiskey-inflamed 
imagination  magnified  the  importance  of  the  inci- 
dent as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  Parker.  The 
miner  was  not  especially  vindictive,  but  he  felt  that 
his  prestige  was  in  danger,  and  this  must  be 
maintained  at  any  cost.  He  had  a  grievance  against 
the  person  who  was  responsible  for  the  challenge  and 
proposed  to  vindicate  his  honor. 

As  the  friend  with  whom  he  had  discussed  the 
stranger  was  among  the  men  at  the  bar,  Dixie  de- 
cided that  the  time  was  propitious  and  the  stage  set- 
ting perfect  for  the  presentation  of  the  one-act 
drama :  ' '  What 's  the  matter  with  Dixie ! ' ' 

He  looked  contemptuously  at  the  young  man  and 
then  at  the  partially  emptied  glass  of  soda  standing 
on  the  table  in  front  of  him,  and  turned  to  Sam,  who 
just  then  was  passing  with  a  tray  of  * '  empties. ' ' 

"I  shay,  Sham, — hie — ye  black  rascal!  Bring  this 
yere  damned  tenderfoot  a  bottle  o '  milk  with  a — hie ! 
— nipple  on  it,  an'  be  sure  it's — hie! — warm." 

There  was  a  roar  all  over  the  room  at  this  sally. 

Parker  paid  no  attention  to  the  miner's  insulting 
remarks,  but  raised  his  glass  and  quietly  sipped  its 
contents. 

The  room  suddenly  grew  hushed,  as  though  every- 
body expected  something  interesting  to  happen.  The 
crowd  tensely  observed  the  scene  and  awaited  the 
entertainment  which  experience  had  taught  them 
was  sure  to  come. 

"Tryin'  ter — hie! — -commit  suicide  with  that  stuff, 
are  ye?"  sneered  Dixie.  "Well,  ye — hie! — can't  do 
it  around  these  diggin's!"  and  he  knocked  the  glass 
out  of  the  stranger's  hand,  the  remnants  of  soda 
splashing  in  the  young  man's  face. 


THE  ABGONAUT  373 

Parker  instinctively  comprehended  that  he  was 
confronted  with  a  crucial  situation,  and  that  upon 
his  action  would  depend  whether  or  not  the  town 
would  extend  to  him  the  right  hand  of  fellowship. 

"My  friend,"  he  said,  calmly,  "you're  drunk,  but 
not  too  drunk  to  kno\V  what  you're  doing.  I  want 
you  to  apologize  for  that  insult  and  do  it  in  a  hur- 
ry." 

The  miner  howled  in  derision,  and  drew  back  his 
fist  as  if  to  strike  him. 

Dixie  never  knew  exactly  what  happened,  but  the 
wise  ones  in  the  crowd  subsequently  told  him  that  the 
stranger  gave  him  a  short-arm  jab  to  the  jaw  that 
was  a  "peach."  They  also  expressed  the  belief 
that  if  Parker  could  be  induced  to  give  lessons  in 
man-handling  to  everybody  in  town,  there 'd  be  a 
slump  in  the  gun  market.  Later,  Dixie  himself  hum- 
orously asserted  that,  until  McGinnis  assured  him 
to  the  contrary,  he  suspected  that  Parker  had 
wrenched  a  leg  off  the  table  and  "soaked"  him  with 
it. 

Dixie  went  down  in  a  heap,  and  as  he  fell,  the 
young  man  snatched  the  miner's  gun  from  its  holster 
and  tossed  the  weapon  to  McGinnis,  who,  too  late 
to  be  of  service,  had  rushed  from  behind  the  bar  to 
quell  the  disturbance. 

McGinnis  looked  in  open-mouthed  astonishment 
from  the  gun  to  Parker  and  from  Parker  to  the  gun. 

' '  Well,  pf wat  the  divil  V '  he  sputtered.  The  crazy 
omadhaun  ain't  got  nary  a  gun  on  him,  an'  he  hands 
me  this  wan!" 

Parker  rose  to  the  occasion,  and  before  any  of 
Dixie's  friends  had  recovered  from  their  astonish- 
ment sufficiently  to  interfere,  he  mounted  a  chair  and 
waved  his  hand  for  attention.  The  men  had  begun 


374  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

to  surge  threateningly  towards  him,  but  suddenly 
stopped  as  though  dumbfounded  by  his  assurance. 

The  fallen  miner  rounded  to,  and  sat  stupidly 
blinking  at  the  scene  and  wondering  where  all  the 
new  stars  he  saw  twinkling  in  the  firmament  had 
come  from. 

McGinnis,  now  speechlessly  bewildered,  with  Dix- 
ie's gun  still  in  his  hand,  stood  gazing  at  the  unusual 
scene  as  though  he  could  not  believe  the  evidence  of 
his  senses. 

"I  just  want  to  say  a  word  to  you,  boys,"  said 
Parker,  calmly,  "I'm  a  stranger  among  you,  but 
I'm  here  with  the  intention  of  staying  and  taking 
my  chances  along  with  the  rest  of  you,  on  equal 
terms  if  I  can.  I  'm  very  sorry  to  have  had  anything 
disagreeable  happen,  for  I  want  you  all  for  friends, 
not  enemies.  The  little  disturbance  that  occurred 
just  now,  was  not  of  my  seeking,  and  I  tried  to 
avoid  it,  as  you  saw,  but  our  friend  here  was  de- 
termined to  compel  me  to  defend  myself.  Now,  I 
can't  accommodate  everyone  in  this  room  with  a 
fight,  although  if  you  insist  on  it  I'll  dp  the  best  I 
can — and,  as  somebody  is  bound  to  be  disappointed, 
suppose  we  call  it  a  day's  work  and  shake  hands 
all  around.  You  fellows  look  to  me  like  men  who 
want  to  play  fair,  and  I'll  bet  that  the  gentleman 
on  the  floor  is  a  mighty  good  fellow  when  he's  not 
in  liquor.  My  name's  Bob  Parker,  and  I  want  to 
be  a  citizen  of  Deadwood  and  help  you  dig  the  bowels 
out  of  these  old  hills  about  here.  Come,  boys,  what 
do  you  say?" 

A  rousing  cheer  greeted  the  young  man  as  he 
concluded  his  speech. 

Dixie  now  was  pretty  well  over  the  effects  of 


THE  ARGONAUT  375 

the  blow  and  fairly  sober.  As  he  was  shakily  rising 
to  his  feet,  Parker  jumped  down  from  his  chair 
and  assisted  him  to  rise. 

The  miner  was  furious,  and  his  hand  instinctively 
went  to  his  holster. 

" Where's  my  gun?"  he  raged. 

"Here  it  is,  Jack,"  said  McGinnis,  presenting  the 
weapon  but  keeping  a  tight  hold  of  it. 

"What  in  hell  are  you  doin'  with  my  gun,  Joe 
McGinnis?" 

"Sure,  an'  Misther  Parker  gave  it  to  me,"  chuck- 
led McGinnis.  He  was  afraid  you'd  be  afther  hurtin' 
yerself  wid  it.  Yez  might  ha'  fell  on  it,  an'  Misther 
Parker  is  that  tinder-hearted  he  couldn't  stand  the 
thoughts  o'  that." 

Dixie  was  dumbfounded,  and  blinked  dazedly  first 
at  Parker  and  then  at  McGinnis. 

"D'ye  mean  ter — ter  tell  me,  Joe,  that — that  feller 
give  ye  my  gun?" 

"Sure,  Dixie,  old  boy,  just  to  hold  fer  yez," 
grinned  McGinnis. 

Parker  offered  his  hand  to  the  miner. 

1 '  Come,  Dixie,  old  man,  be  a  good  sport  and  shake 
hands  with  me.  We  might  as  well  be  friends." 

Dixie,  now  thoroughly  sobered,  stood  irresolutely 
for  a  moment  gazing  at  his  conqueror  as  he  might  at 
a  new  species  of  animal.  Then,  moved  by  one  of 
those  inexplicable  impulses  which  sometimes  sway 
the  roughest  of  men,  he  wrung  the  young  man's 
hand  with  a  grip  that  almost  made  him  wince. 

"By  G d!  I  will  shake  hands  with  ye,  young 

feller!  Ye 're  some  good  sport  yerself,  if  anybody 
should  ask  ye. ' ' 

As  the  men  shook  hands  the  crowd  cheered  until 


376  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

the  rickety  building  fairly  shivered.  The  miner 's  en- 
thusiastic friends  then  loudly  inquired : 

" What's  the  matter  with  Parker?"  and,  having 
decided  he  was  "all  right,"  they  proceeded  vocif- 
erously to  analyze  Dixie,  with  a  similar  result. 

McGinnis  now  mounted  a  chair  and  invited  every- 
body to  take  a  '  *  tin-roof, ' '  otherwise  known  as  * '  one 
on  the  house,"  and  everyone  within  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  even  several  cautious  parties  who  were  cur- 
iously peeping  in  at  the  street  door  and  waiting  for 
the  usual  fireworks  to  begin,  flocked  to  the  bar.  Good 
fellowship  was  in  the  air,  and  Parker  was  even  per- 
mitted to  indulge  in  another  soda — which  complais- 
ance on  the  part  of  the  crowd  possibly  was  a  natur- 
al sequence  of  Dixie's  experience  with  the  soft- 
drinking  stranger. 

When  Parker  and  Dixie  separated  that  night,  each 
man  realized  that  he  had  gained  a  friend  who  was 
worth  while.  For  his  part,  the  young  man  intuitive- 
ly felt  that  he  had  begun  his  career  in  Deadwood 
under  most  favorable  conditions. 

After  the  rest  of  the  men  had  gone,  a  stalwart, 
bearded,  fine-looking  man  of  about  thirty-five  years 
of  age  remained  standing  at  the  bar  talking  with 
McGinnis.  Parker  said  good-night  to  mine  host 
and  was  about  to  repair  to  his  room,  when  McGinnis 
called  to  him. 

"Just  a  minute,  Misther  Parker.  Here's  a  gintle- 
man  that  wants  to  sphake  to  yez." 

Parker  approached  the  two  men  and  McGinnis 
said  : 

* '  Shake  hands  wid  Misther  Horton,  Misther  Par- 
ker." 

After  the  two  had  exchanged  the  usual  perfunctory 
greetings,  McGinnis  remarked: 


THE  ARGONAUT  377 

"Misther  Horton  is  Sheriff  o'  Deadwood,  sorr." 

"Ah!  I  see,"  laughed  Parker,  "then  I  suppose 
I  am  under  arrest." 

1 1  Hardly, ' '  grinned  Horton,  with  a  chuckle.  * '  It  'a 
too  late  to  send  fer  help,  an'  ye  might  frisk  my  gun. 
I  just  wanted  to  meet  ye  and  tell  ye  what  I  think  p ' 
that  little  performance  tonight.  I  came  in  just  in 
time  to  hear  yer  speech,  an'  the  boys  told  me  the 
rest.  That  little  piece  o'  work  was  24  carats  fine, 
an '  don 't  ye  forget  it. ' ' 

"Oh,  there  wasn't  much  to  it,"  replied  the  young 
man,  "I  guess  the  fellows  in  this  town  are  all  right, 
if  one  knows  how  to  take  them. ' ' 

"Yes,"  retorted  Horton,  gravely,  "but  you  didn't 
know.  You  took  a  long  chance." 

"Well,  anyway,  I  got  away  with  it,"  said  Parker, 
smilingly. 

"You  sure  did,  an'  if  I  know  the  signs,  you're  so 
solid  with  the  boys  in  this  town  that  dynamite 
couldn't  jar  ye." 

"I'll  be  mighty  glad  if  that  proves  to  be  true," 
said  Parker,  seriously.  "It  looked  for  a  few  min- 
utes to-night  as  though  I  had  made  a  very  bad  start. " 

"An'  so  it  might  have  been,"  replied  Horton,  "if 
ye  hadn't  been  lucky.  Ye  never  can  tell  what  a 
crowd  '11  do  when  it  gits  started.  If  the  notion  strikes 
'em  ter  be  nasty  an'  make  the  wrong  move,  all  hell 
can't  stop  'em.  Some  o'  them  'all  right'  fellers,  as 
you  call  'em,  sometimes  shoot  first  an'  send  regrets 
an'  flowers  afterward." 

"Come,  byes,"  said  McGinnis,  "let's  have  wan 
on  the  house.  Yez  can  have  some  tay  this  toime,  if 
ye  want  it,  an'  there'll  be  no  kick  comin',  Misther 
Parker.  I  don't  want  ter  sell  ye  inny  whisky,  inny- 


378  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

how,"  he  chuckled.  "If  yez  can  punch  the  way  ye 
did  the  night  on  soda  wather,  pfwat  the  divil  would 
yez  do  on  whiskey!" 

The  party  laughed  heartily  at  the  Irishman's  ap- 
preciation of  his  new  boarder's  hitting  ability. 

"Here's  to  the  soda  punch,"  the  sheriff  said, 
raising  his  glass. 

The  drinks  having  been  stowed  away,  Horton 
looked  at  his  watch. 

"Holy  smoke!  boys,"  he  exclaimed,  "it's  some 
past  bed  time.  It's  2  g.  m.  Mr.  Parker  here,  ought 
ter  be  hittin'  the  hay  an'  gettin'  the  stage-ache  out 
o'  his  bones,  an'  the  sheriff  ought  ter  be  settin'  a 
good  example  fer  the  citizens  by  gittin'  home  him- 
self. Let's  have  a  night-cap  an'  call  it  quittin' 
time." 

Parker  laughingly  begged  off  on  the  plea  that  he 
feared  drowning  if  he  imbibed  any  more  soda,  and 
Horton  and  McGinnis  finished  the  spirituous  cere- 
mony alone. 

As  Horton  bade  the  young  man  good  night  at  the 
door,  he  gave  him  a  hearty  hand-shake  and  said, 
warmly: 

"Drop  in  an'  see  me  tomorrow,  Mr.  Parker,  I 
want  ter  know  ye  better.  If  ye  don't  mind  me  bein' 
plain-spoken,  I'll  tell  ye  right  now  that  I  like  yer 
style,  an'  I've  got  a  hunch  that  you  an'  me  are  goin' 
to  be  pretty  good  friends." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  rejoined  the  other,  laughingly. 
"The  'hunch'  is  mutual,  and  I'm  pretty  certain  that 
with  you  and  Dixie  for  a  social  starter,  I'm  not 
going  to  be  lonesome." 

' '  Eight  ye  are, ' '  chuckled  Horton,  "  but  I  'm  d d 

glad  that  ye  didn't  hand  me  the  same  kind  of  a 


THE  AKGONAUT  379 

card  ye  did  t'  Dixie.    That  jaw  of  his  sure  looked 
some  tumid. ' ' 

"Honors  are  easy,  sir.  From  the  set  of  your 
shoulders  and  the  looks  of  that  arsenal  in  your 
holsters,  I  am  inclined  to  be  somewhat  glad  myself," 
returned  Parker  gayly,  as  he  ascended  the  stairs. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
THE  NEW  SCHOOL-MA'AM 

As  Tom  Horton  had  predicted,  the  exciting  events 
of  Parker's  first  evening  in  Deadwood  proved  most 
auspicious  for  the  young  man,  and  he  became  im- 
mensely popular  with  his  fellow-townsmen. 

Dixie,  who  had  served  with  such  embarrassment 
to  himself  as  a  self-appointed  committee  of  one  to 
welcome  the  new  arrival,  became  his  staunchest  ad- 
mirer, while  Horton  and  he  became  inseparables. 

Parker  found  his  new  friend  to  be  the  salt  of  the 
earth,  honest  to  a  fault  and  as  big-hearted  and 
courageous  as  he  was  stalwart  of  frame.  As  Horton 
was  a  bachelor,  the  two  men  found  many  opportun- 
ities for  close  companionship  and  intimate  commun- 
ion, when  the  sheriff's  official  duties  did  not  inter- 
fere. On  numerous  occasions  of  emergency  Horton 
shared  these  duties  with  his  friend  by  appointing 
him  his  deputy,  in  which  capacity  he  proved  to  be 
as  brave  and  reliably  cool  as  was  the  sheriff  him- 
self. On  one  occasion  when  a  number  of  men  were 
in  jail  awaiting  trial  for  several  killings  that  had 
occurred  in  a  fracas  resulting  from  an  attempt  at 
mine-jumping,  Parker's  assistance  alone  prevented 
a  wholesale  lynching. 

The  young  man  finally  left  the  Miners'  Rest,  much 
to  the  regret  of  the  McGinnis  family,  who  had  be- 
come very  fond  of  him,  and  took  up  his  abode  with 


THE  NEW  SCHOOL  MA'AM  381 

the  sheriff  at  the  latter 's  official  headquarters  in  a 
little  one-story  building  on  the  main  street,  some 
distance  from  the  center  of  the  town. 

Soon  after  his  arrival,  Parker  procured  a  miner's 
outfit,  including  the  inevitable  six-shooter  and  car- 
tridge belt,  and  began  his  career  as  a  gold-seeker. 
He  labored  most  industriously  in  the  hills  and  tried 
out  prospect  after  prospect,  without  any  reward 
other  than  the  bronzing  of  face  and  hardening  of 
muscles  which  at  his  age  are  the  inevitable  result 
of  a  strenuous  and  clean  out-of-door  life. 

He  kept  good  hours,  adhered  to  his  temperate 
habits  and  let  gambling  and  all  other  vicious  indul- 
gences severely  alone.  He  went  about  sufficiently 
to  keep  on  good  terms  with  his  fellow-townsmen 
and,  as  he  did  not  affect  the  airs  of  a  moral  example 
or  social  "perfecto,"  his  irreproachable  personal 
habits  did  not  jar  the  free  and  easy  sensibilities 
of  his  Deadwood  friends,  nor  lessen  his  popularity. 

One  pleasant  evening  about  a  month  after  the 
young  man's  arrival  in  Deadwood,  Parker  and  his 
friend  Tom  were  sitting  in  front  of  the  sheriff's  of- 
fice, engaged  in  conversation  on  the  subject  of  min- 
ing. 

The  young  miner  was  greatly  discouraged  by  his 
ill  luck  in  prospecting,  and  his  friend  was  endeavor- 
ing to  console  him  as  best  he  could  by  relating  the 
experiences  of  a  number  of  other  miners  who  at  first 
also  had  bad  luck  in  the  Hills,  but  finally  had  struck 
rich. 

"  There  was  a  feller  by  the  name  o'  Talbot,  from 
Buffalo,  I  think  he  said, — although  previous  loca- 
tions don't  count  fer  much  with  us — who  dug  around 
these  hills  for  six  months  without  hittin'  it  off.  He 
didn't  git  enough  color  ter  dazzle  a  mosquito's  eye. 


382  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

He  was  poor  as  Job 's  turkey  when  he  struck  town,  an  ' 
ye'd  better  believe  that,  fer  a  while,  he  didn't  git 
any  richer  as  he  went  along — poverty  and  bad  pros- 
pects are  twins  in  the  diggings,  ye  know.  He  finally 
reached  a  point  where  he  was  clean  busted  an '  walk- 
in'  on  his  uppers,  when  Billy  Marshall,  who  ran  the 
old  Empire  saloon  an'  dance  hall,  come  to  the  front 
an'  grub-staked  the  poor  cuss.  Well,  inside  o'  two 
months  the  feller  struck  it  rich — struck  a  prospect 
that  was  gold  from  the  grass  roots.  He  sold  out  fer 
a  cool  half  million,  and  went  back  to  the  States  ter 
play  gentleman. 

"Have  ye  ever  noticed  a  sign  down  the  street, 
'Miners'  Bank  o'  Deadwood?'  Well,  that's  the  half 
o'  that  five  hundred  thousand  that  Talbot  left  here 
with  the  feller  that  grub-staked  him.  The  bank 
president's  name  is  Marshall.  The  Hon.  William 
Marshall,  if  ye  please — 'Billy'  don't  go  any  more. 

"Brace  up,  old  man!"  continued  Horton,  slap- 
ping his  disconsolate  friend  on  the  shoulder;  "you'll 
make  a  ten-strike  yet,  see  if  ye  don't." 

"Yes,  that's  all  well  enough,"  grumbled  Parker, 
moodily,  "but  I  guess  it  takes  brains  to  turn  up  the 
color,  and  I  'm  beginning  to  think  that  I  'm  a  bit  shy 
on  that  useful  commodity." 

Horton  laughed  vociferously. 

"Brains!  Brains!  Sufferin'  cats!  Ye  didn't 
know  Talbot.  Brains!  Huh!  He  didn't  know 
enough  ter  read  his  meal  ticket.  As  for  Bill  Mar- 
shall— hell,  man!  if  ye  knew  that  chunk  o'  phoney 
metal  ye'd  think  it  took  a  damned  sight  less  brains 
ter  run  a  bank  than  it  does  ter  make  a  fluke  o '  min- 
in»." 

"All  right,  Tom,  but  I'll  bet  that  either  of  them 


THE  NEW  SCHOOL  MA'AM  383 

had  more  of  the  sort  of  brains  that's  necessary  in 
mining  than  I  have." 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Bob !  Ye  make  me  tired.  If  brains 
an'  education  was  all  that's  necessary  in  minin', 
you'd  have  all  the  gold  in  the  Black  Hills  dug,  bagged 
an'  banked  by  now.  Do  as  I  tell  ye,  brace  up — an' 
keep  on  a  diggin'." 

A  sudden  thought  struck  Horton. 

"By  the  way,  my  boy,  are  yer  funds  runnin'  low?" 

"W — why,  no.  What  made  you  think  they  were, 
Tom?" 

"I  just  guessed  it — an'  now  I'm  sure  of  it.  Come 
off,  now!"  Horton  went  on,  as  Parker  was  about  to 
protest.  "Ye  can't  fool  yer  Uncle  Dudley.  Now, 
Bob,  you  just  quit  yer  worryin'.  My  salary  an' 
perquisites  goes  right  along  just  the  same,  whether 
you're  striking'  pay  dirt  or  bum  gravel,  an'  as  I'm 
the  landlord  o'  this  dump  that  you're  a  hangin'  out 
at,  an'  on  good  terms  with  the  sheriff,  ye  needn't 
be  afraid  o'  bein'  evicted  fer  non-payment  o'  board 
an'  room  rent." 

Parker  was  too  much  overcome  by  his  friend's 
generosity  to  answer.  He  could  only  grasp  Tom's 
hand  in  silent  appreciation  of  his  kindness. 

"Hello!"  exclaimed  Horton,  "there  goes  some- 
thin'  that  Deadwood's  goin'  ter  be  mighty  proud  of, 
if  the  whole  blamed  town  don't  carry  it  further  an' 
fall  in  love  with  her — an'  git  ter  fightin'  over  her." 

Parker  followed  his  friend 's  gaze  and  saw  a  young 
woman  just  emerging  from  the  Miners'  Eest.  She 
hesitated  a  moment  at  the  door  and  then  crossed  the 
street  and  entered  the  post-office. 

"Evidently  a  strange  lady.  But  why  the  ex- 
citement, Tom?"  queried  Parker,  listlessly. 


384  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Why,  she's  the  new  school-ma'am  from  the  East. 
Hain't  ye  heard  about  her?" 

"No,  can't  say  that  I  have.  I  haven't  been  around 
much  for  three  or  four  days,  and  haven't  visited 
the  McGinnis's  for  at  least  a  week.  When  did  she 
strike  town?" 

"Day  before  yesterday.  Miss  Vinegar-Face  left 
the  next  mornin'  after  the  new  teacher  landed. 
Couldn't  stand  the  competition  of  a  real,  sure- 
enough  lady  with  a  sweet  smile,  I  guess." 

Parker  abstractedly  took  his  knife  from  his  pocket, 
opened  it  and  picking  up  a  stick  proceeded  to  whit- 
tle aimlessly. 

"So,"  said  the  young  man,  indifferently.  "Who 
is  the  paragon  of  brains,  beauty  and  grace  ? ' ' 

"She's  from  some  place  in  New  York.  Her  name 
is  Weathers — no,  it's  Weatherson." 

Parker  uttered  an  exclamation  and  sprang  to  his 
feet. 

"What's  the  matter,  Bob?" 

"Why— I— I  cut  my  hand  a  little;  that's  all,"  re- 
plied Parker,  holding  up  the  wounded  member  in 
evidence. 

Horton  was  so  solicitous  about  the  wounded  hand 
that  he  did  not  notice  his  friend's  agitation,  but 
rushed  into  their  quarters  after  something  with 
which  to  dress  the  wound. 

"Good  Lord!  What  a  fool  I  am!"  exclaimed 
Parker,  disgustedly,  as  he  endeavored  to  stanch  the 
blood  that  was  freely  spouting  from  his  wound, 
which  really  was  quite  severe. 

"How  could  it  be  she?"  he  muttered  impatiently. 
"What  would  she  be  doing  here — teaching  school  in 
a  mining  town.  I'd  better  see  a  doctor  tomorrow 
and  have  my  head  examined.  Incidentally,  I'd  bet- 


THE  NEW  SCHOOL  MA'AM  385 

ter  get  some  dope  for  first  aid  to  the  nervous,  if 
I'm  going  to  jump  like  a  frightened  alley-cat  every 
time  anything  stirs  me  up." 

When  Horton  returned  with  a  crude  bandage,  his 
friend  had  regained  command  of  himself  and  was 
calm  and  self-contained. 

"Kids  like  you  hadn't  oughter  play  with  cuttin' 
tools,  Bob,"  grinned  Horton,  as  he  bandaged  the 
wound. 

" Shouldn't  wonder  if  you  were  right,  Tom — or 
with  fire,  either,"  replied  Parker,  gravely. 

Just  as  he  finished  his  primitive  surgical  min- 
istrations, Horton  saw  the  school-ma'am  emerge 
from  the  postoffice  and  come  leisurely  down  the 
street  directly  toward  the  two  men. 

"Great  snakes!  Here  she  comes,  Bob!  I'll  give 
ye  a  knockdown." 

"What! — another?"  said  Bob,  enigmatically. 

Tom  gazed  at  his  friend  in  a  puzzled  fashion  for 
a  moment. 

"No,  not  another.  Ye  must  have  dreamed  about 
the  first  time.  Anyhow,  here  she  is  a  comin',  head  on 
an'  all  sails  set.  Ain't  she  sixteen  dollars  to  the 
ounce — eh?" 

Parker  earnestly  studied  the  young  woman  as 
she  approached,  and  long  before  she  came  within 
speaking  distance  recognized  her  as  one  whom  he 
had  known  under  circumstances  which  he  had  tried 
hard  to  forget.  She  had  been  one  of  the  principals  in 
a  certain  scene  in  his  drama  of  life,  which  he  had 
endeavored  to  bury  so  deep  in  the  waters  of  Lethe 
that  it  never  could  return  to  haunt  his  memory.  Not 
only  had  he  tried  to  forget  the  scene,  but  also  the 
actors.  A.nd  he  almost  had  succeeded  in  forgetting. 
The  old  life  had  become  like  an  awful  dream,  the 


386  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

memory  of  which  time  had  toned  down  into  a  dim, 
chaotic  impression  that  bade  fair  to  fade  away  al- 
together, ere  long.  But  now ! — 

1  'Why  did  she  ever  come  here?"  he  thought.  "How 
did  it  happen?  Great  God !  Suppose  she  should  rec- 
ognize me! — " 

He  mechanically  put  his  hand  to  his  face,  which 
now  was  covered  with  a  luxuriantly  heavy  beard. 

"Pshaw!  What  am  I  afraid  of?"  he  reflected; 
"she  wouldn't  know  me  in  a  thousand  years.  Why 
should  she  remember  a — " 

1 '  Good  evening,  Mr.  Horton, ' '  said  the  young  wo- 
man, bestowing  on  the  sheriff  a  dazzling  smile  that 
set  the  honest  fellow's  susceptible  heart  thumping 
like  a  steam  hammer. 

Parker  removed  his  hat. 

"Good  evenin',  ma'am,"  replied  Horton,  awk- 
wardly. 

Noticing  Parker's  hat  in  his  hand,  the  sheriff 
suddenly  remembered  the  proprieties  and  snatched 
off  his  own  as  if  he  were  angry  at  it,  an  appearance 
which  he  made  plainer  by  fumbling  the  head-piece 
and  dropping  it  on  the  sidewalk. 

Parker  picked  up  the  hat  and  handed  it  to  Horton, 
saying,  in  a  mischievous  aside : 

"I  told  you  that  hat  was  too  small  for  you,  Tom — 
but  why  throw  it  at  the  lady?" 

The  sheriff  glared  savagely  at  his  friend  for  a 
second  and  then,  with  eyes  twinkling  at  the  humor 
of  the  situation,  said: 

"I  just  hate  to  db  it,  ma'am,  but  I've  got  ter 
introduce  ye  ter  my  partner  here.  This  is  Mister 
Parker,  Miss  Weatherson.  Ye  just  noticed,  ma'am, 
that  he  can  handle  his  hat  mighty  genteel — an'  that's 
about  all  for  him. 


THE  NEW  SCHOOL  MA'AM  387 

The  lady  laughed  merrily  at  the  quaint  intro- 
duction. 

11  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Parker,"  she 
said,  cordially. 

As  he  clasped  the  young  woman's  hand  in  his 
own,  Parker  was  so  overcome  by  emotion  that  he 
was  almost  as  awkward  with  embarrassment  as  was 
Horton. 

"I — I  am  delighted  to  meet  you,  Miss  Weatherson, 
and — and  I  am  glad  to  know  that  the  school  is  going 
to  be  in  such  good  hands.  I — I  hope  you'll  stick, 
Miss." 

"So,  Mr.  Horton  has  told  you  that  I  am  the  new 
school  mistress,  has  he?  Well,  Mr.  Parker,  I've  just 
got  to  stick.  It's  bread  and  butter  with  me.  Not 
only  do  I  hope  that  the  people  here  will  like  me,  but 
I  am  going  to  make  them  like  me." 

"And  we'll  help  ter  make  'em  like  her,  won't  we, 
Bob?"  interposed  Horton,  gallantly. 

"We  surely  will,  Tom,"  and  Parker,  his  equipoise 
regained,  smiled  indulgently  at  his  friend. 

^But  possibly  we  are  interfering  with  your  walk, 
Miss  Weatherson,"  he  ventured. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  protested,  "it  is  growing  dark  and 
I  am  going  to  return  to  the  hotel.  I  should  have 
started  earlier  for  my  constitutional. ' ' 

After  a  few  moments '  desultory  conversation,  the 
young  woman  bade  the  two  men  good  evening  and 
departed. 

/'Go  along  with  her,  you  chump!"  said  Parker, 
giving  his  friend  a  shove  in  the  direction  she  had 
taken. 

Horton  rose  to  the  occasion  and  rushed  after  the 
school  mistress. 

"I  just — just  happened  to  think,"  he  said,  "that — 


388  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

I  was  goin'  down  ter  McGinnis's  an' — an'  if — if  yer 
don't  mind,  I'll—" 

1  'I  shall  be  very  glad  of  your  company,  Mr.  Hor- 
ton,  if,"  she  laughed,  " people  will  not  think  I'm 
under  arrest." 

"No  fear  o'  that,  Miss  Weatherson.  Anyhow,  if 
they  do,  they'll  not  think  it  out  loud." 

The  young  woman  glanced  at  his  determined  face 
and  massive  shoulders  and  at  the  guns  in  his  belt 
and  concluded  that  when  Tom  Horton  chose  to  do 
other  persons'  thinking  for  them,  he  probably  did 
it  most  effectually. 

Parker  sat  for  several  minutes  dejectedly  looking 
after  the  couple  as  they  strolled  down  the  street. 
Suddenly  rising  to  his  feet  he  struck  himself  a  vio- 
lent blow  on  the  chest  with  his  clenched  fist. 

"Was  there  ever  such  an  unfortunate  fool  as  I 
am?"  he  exclaimed  in  fierce  self-reproach.  "An  ex- 
ile ! — aye,  worse,  an  outcast !  penniless,  with  nothing 
in  the  future  except  what  I  can  hammer  out  by 
drudgery — unless  I  strike  pay-dirt  in  these  hills — 
and  here  I  am  taking  up  the  old  dream  just  where  I 
left  it,  back  there  in — " 

As  he  turned  again  and  looked  down  the  street 
towards  town,  he  shuddered  at  the  recollection. 

Miss  Weatherson  was  just  bidding  Horton  adieu 
at  the  door  of  the  hotel.  A  moment  later  Parker 
saw  his  friend  saunter  across  the  street  and  enter 
the  postoffice. 

"Dear,  susceptible  old  Tom!"  he  said  to  himself, 
"I  wish  you  luck,  my  boy,  but  I  fear  there  are 
breakers  ahead,  unless  Miss  Weatherson  adopts  the 
western  idea  of  manhood  and  forgets  her  eastern 
associations  and  culture.  Grammar  doesn't  make 
the  man,  but  I'm  mightily  afraid  that  it  counts  too 


THE  NEW  SCHOOL  MA'AM  389 

much  with  her  order  for  your  peace  of  mind,  if 
things  go  as  I  suspect  they  will. 

"Well,  I'm  out  of  it,  for  good  and  all,"  he  sighed, 
"and  I'll  do  the  best  I  can  to  aid  you,  my  faithful 
friend.  With  the  exception  of  Jack  Halloran,  you're 
the  best  fellow  I  ever  knew,  and  if  I  can  help  that 
lovely  girl  see  through  your  outer  crust  and  ap- 
preciate the  real  man  beneath,  I'm  going  to  do  it." 

Parker  entered  the  cabin,  hunted  up  his  pipe  and 
tobacco  pouch  and  when  the  sheriff  returned  an  hour 
later  he  found  his  friend  sitting  in  the  front  office 
with  his  chair  tipped  back  against  the  wall  and  his 
hat  pulled  over  his  eyes,  puffing  away  like  mad  at 
his  pipe. 

The  two  sat  quietly  smoking  for  a  long  time,  with- 
out speaking.  Parker  was  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"See  here,  Tom,  you're  coming  on.  You'll  be 
quite  a  ladies'  man,  before  you  get  through." 

"Oh,  hell!  Bob,  stop  yer  kiddin'.  I've  got  a  fine 
chance  ter  be  a  ladies'  man,  I  don't  guess." 

"Well,  don't  fret  about  your  standing  with  the 
ladies  in  general,  if  you  can  pull  it  off  right  with  the 
particular  one. ' ' 

Horton  turned  and  looked  squarely  at  his  friend. 

"Just  tip  up  the  brim  o'  that  hat,  Bob,  an'  let  me 
see  which  way  ye 're  lookin'.  I  want  ter  know  how 
much  josh  there  is  in  yer  conversation  as  we  mosey 
along." 

Parker  laughed  and  shoved  his  hat  to  the  back  of 
his  head. 

"There,  how's  that,  Tom?" 

' '  That 's  better,  my  boy.    You  was  sayin ' —  t " 

"I  was  saying  that  you  needn't  worry  about  the 
favor  of  the  ladies  so  long  as  you  make  a  hit  with 
the  lady." 


390  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Meanin,  by  that,  Miss  Weatherson,  I  s'pose." 

"Yes,  that's  the  idea,  precisely." 

Horton  blew  a  huge  whiff  of  smoke  from  his  lips 
and  fussed  with  his  pipe  for  a  moment  before  ans- 
wering. 

"Lookee  here,  Bob,  ye  don't  think  I've  gone  off 
my  nut  entirely,  do  ye  ?"  he  asked,  moodily. 

"Thought  I  saw  symptoms,  Tom." 

"Say,  partner,  I  hain't  got  much  book  learnin', 
nor  much — much — ' ' 

"Culture,  eh?" 

"Yes,  that's  the  dope;  I  hain't  got  much  culture, 
but  I'm  not  quite  a  damned  fool.  Why,  man,  what 
would  a  woman  like  that  be  doin' — thinkin'  of  a 
rough-neck  like  me? 

"Symptoms!  You  talk  about  symptoms!"  he 
continued,  hotly.  "Yes,  maybe  there  was  a  few 
symptoms,  but  it  took  just  fifteen  minutes  to  cure 
'em.  Why,  man,  she  talks  like  a  book,  an'  knows 
more'n  any  man  in  these  diggin's — barrin'  yerself. 
An'  by  the  way,  Bob  Parker.!"  he  exclaimed,  "I 
suspect  that  you'd  be  just  about  the  proper  caper 
for  the  little  school-ma'am!" 

"Forget  it,  Tom,"  replied  Bob,  with  a  forced 
laugh;  "I'm  not  a  marrying  man." 

"Somebody  back  east,  eh?" 

"Yes,  I— well,  I  lost  her,  Tom." 

" Oh !    Beg  your  pardon,  Bob,  I—" 

"No  especial  harm  done,  old  man,  only  I'm  trying 
to  forget,  that's  all.  By  the  way,  Tom,"  he  con- 
tinued, "don't  be  too  sure  about  your  stock  being 
low  because  your  grammar  is  not  up  to  the  Harvard 
standard.  Women  are  funny  creatures,  and  Miss 
Weatherson  may  like  you  just  because  you  are  dif- 
ferent from  the  grammatical  eastern  dudes." 


THE  NEW  SCHOOL  MA'AM  391 

Horton  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  rose  to 
his  feet  and  entered  their  quarters.  He  turned  at 
the  door  and  looked  steadily  at  his  friend  for  a 
moment. 

"Are  you  joshin'  me,  Bob?"  he  finally  asked. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  my  dear  boy.  The  subject  is  too 
serious  for  trifling." 

(An'  ye  really  think  I'd  have  a  ghost  of  a  show?" 


n 

"Yes,  and  better  than  a  'ghost'.'" 


"Darned  if  I  ain't  got  a  sneakin'  notion  ter  try 
my  luck,  Bob." 

"Well,"  rejoined  Parker,  "the  worst  that  can 
happen  to  you  will  be  getting  turned  down. ' ' 

"Yes,  that's  no  dream — that  would  be  the  *  worst' 
thing  that  could  happen, ' '  said  Horton,  gloomily. 

"  So  to  it,  anyway,  Tom,  and  count  on  me  for  any- 
thing I  can  do  to  help  the  game  along. ' ' 

"D'ye  mean  that,  Bob  Parker?" 

"You  can  bet  your  bottom  dollar  I  do,  Tom,"  and 
Parker  extended  his  hand. 

Horton  silently  shook  his  friend's  hand  until  the 
latter 's  fingers  were  numb,  then  knocked  the  ashes 
from  his  pipe  and  entered  the  office.  Parker,  sigh- 
ing deeply,  followed  the  sheriff 's  example. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

INITIATING    A    TENDERFOOT 

Life  in  Deadwood  had  been  decidedly  humdrum 
for  weeks.  There  had  been  comparatively  few  new 
arrivals  in  town  and  these  were  the  commonplace 
variety  of  fortune-seekers.  Time  was  fast  becoming 
a  deadly  drag,  and  the  old  residents  were  beginning 
to  feel  oppressed  by  the  ennui  which  monotonous  ev- 
eryday events  are  wont  to  produce  in  such  energetic 
citizens  as  are  found  in  new  mining  communities. 

Widespread  ennui  usually  was  the  forerunner  of 
a  violent  letting  off  of  steam  by  the  more  exuberant 
spirits  among  the  populace,  and  some  of  the  resi- 
dents had  begun  to  wonder  what  particular  outbreak 
was  in  prospect,  when  there  arrived  a  stranger  who 
apparently  was  sent  by  kind  Providence  to  relieve 
the  leaden  dullness  of  the  town. 

The  usual  crowd  was  gathered  at  the  Miners*  Rest 
one  evening,  in  feverish  quest  of  such  diversion  and 
recreation  as  firewater  and  the  game  of  draw-poker 
afforded.  McGinnis  and  his  ebon-hued  helper,  Sam 
Merritt,  sometime  boss  of  a  Pullman  car  somewhere 
east  of  the  Mississippi,  were  having  their  habitually 
strenuous  time  in  meeting  the  demands  of  thirsty 
patrons. 

Dixie  and  three  other  men,  two  of  whom  evidently 
were  miners,  the  third  being  a  professional  gambler, 
were  sitting  at  one  of  the  tables  playing  poker  and 


INITIATING  A  TENDERFOOT  393 

aiding  McGinnis  in  his  laudable  efforts  to  reduce  his 
supply  of  fluids. 

"I  say,  boys,"  said  Dixie,  " you'd  oughter  see  what 
bio  wed  in  on  the  stage  this  afternoon. ' ' 

"What  was  that,  Dixie?"  asked  one  of  his  com- 
panions. 

"A  real,  live  Johnny  Bull,  sure  as  I'm  a  Kentuck- 
ian." 

"What's  he  like,  Dixie?"  inquired  another. 

"Say,  pardner,  don't  ask  me  ter  describe  him  to 
an  eyelash,  fer  I  can't  do  the  subjeck  justice.  He's 
a  tall,  slab-sided,  red-headed  chap,  dressed  in  a 
Scotch  cap  an'  a  suit  o'  clothes  that  ye  could  play 
checkers  on.  I  heard  them  checks  plain,  when  the 
stage  was  a  mile  down  the  road.  An'  say,  boys, 
ye'd  oughter  see  the  pane  o'  glass  in  his  eye.  How 
he  keeps  it  screwed  in  is  more'n  I  know." 

" Where 'd  he  get  steered  to,"  queried  the  gambler. 

"Well,  I  saw  the  feller  a  talkin'  with  Bill  Harkins, 
an'  I  guessed  where  he'd  land,  all  right,"  said  Dixie. 
' '  McGinnis  has  got  him  hid  somewheres.  How  about 
that,  Mac?"  he  called. 

"Pfwat's  that,  Dixie?" 

"What  did  ye  do  with  that  English  gent  that 
blowed  in  on  the  stage  this  afternoon  ? ' ' 

"Shtowed  him  away  upstairs,  begorra.  Oi  was 
afraid  some  o'  you  divils  'd  be  afther  nhtealin' 
him." 

"Which  was  some  dirty  deal  on  me,  Mac.  I  saw 
him  first.  Where  is  he  now  f ' ' 

'"The  lasht  I  saw  o'  the  spalpeen,  he  was  thryin' 
to  borry  wan  o'  me  ould  woman's  tubs,  fer  to  take  a 
'bawth'  in  it,"  chuckled  McGinnis.  "Sh— h!  boys, 
here  he  comes  now,  bedad ! ' ' 

The  appearance  of  the  person  who  was  slowly 


394  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

coming  down  the  stairs  and  wonderingly  sizing  up 
the  strangely-assorted  crowd  in  the  bar-room,  cor- 
responded to  a  nicety  with  Dixie's  description  of 
the  new  arrival,  and  spoke  well  for  the  accuracy  of 
the  miner's  faculty  of  observation. 

The  stranger  landed  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs, 
crossed  the  office  and  entered  the  bar-room.  Just 
within  the  entrance  he  stopped  short,  readjusted  his 
be-ribboned  monocle  and  calmly  surveyed  the  as- 
sembled citizens  as  though  he  were  a  naturalist 
studying  new  fauna. 

Dixie  beckoned  to  Sam  and  when  that  worthy 
answered  the  summons,  industriously  whispered  in 
the  negro's  capacious  ear. 

' '  Suah !  I  done  got  some,  Mistah  Dixie, ' '  grinned 
the  negro. 

Sam  rushed  out  of  the  room  and  returning  threw 
a  handful  of  semi- round  objects  upon  the  floor.  The 
prunes,  for  such  they  proved  to  be,  rolled  about  in 
the  damp  sawdust  and  became  incrusted  so  that  they 
were  much  larger  than  their  natural  size. 

The  negro  now  seized  a  huge  broom  and  proceeded 
industriously  to  sweep  the  floor,  the  prunes  rolling 
about  in  a  most  erratic  fashion,  gathering  on  the  way 
more  sawdust,  with  a  sprinkling  of  tobacco- juice 
which  inaccurate  marksmen  who  had  failed  to  hit 
the  spit-boxes  had  liberally  contributed  to  the  gen- 
eral mussiness  of  the  floor. 

Sam  took  good  care  that  his  efforts  at  sweeping 
took  him  directly  towards  the  stranger,  who  stood 
between  the  door  and  the  vigorously  wielded  broom, 
and  perforce  was  compelled  to  get  out  of  the  negro 's 
way. 

The  Englishman  screwed  the  monocle  more  tight- 
ly into  his  eye  and  curiously  surveyed  the  floor 


INITIATING  A  TENDERFOOT  395 

sweepings  which  Sam  was  rapidly  propelling  toward 
the  door. 

Everybody,  save  Dixie  and  his  party,  openly  sized 
up  the  stranger.  The  four  card  players  pretended  to 
be  absorbed  in  their  game,  but  surreptitiously 
glanced  from  time  to  time  at  the  odd-looking  new- 
comer. 

"I'll  raise  you  ten,"  said  the  gambler,  after  care- 
fully studying  his  hand. 

"I'll  see  that  ten,  an'  go  ye  ten  better,"  growled 
Dixie. 

The  players  again  studied  their  cards,  meanwhile 
watching  the  stranger  out  of  the  corners  of  their 
devilment-reflecting  eyes. 

The  Englishman  readjusted  his  monocle  and 
stooped  to  get  a  better  view  of  the  floor  sweepings. 

"My  word!"  he  drawled,  "What  extraor'narily 
large  grapes  you  have  in  this  country!" 

* '  Grapes ! ' '  exclaimed  Sam,  * '  Grapes !  Why,  dem 
ain't  grapes,  boss.  I'm  s 'prised  at  yo'  all!  Dem's 
eyes  dat  was  gouged  out  here  dis  evenin'." 

"Eyes?  Why,  me  good  man,  how  remarkable! 
what!" 

"Suah!  Didn't  yo'  all  hear  de  goin's  on.  My! 
Sech  carryin's  on  I  nebbah  did  see  befo'." 

Sam  grinned  until  his  huge,  white  back  teeth  were 
in  evidence,  and  winked  at  the  men  who  were  stand- 
ing at  the  bar  interestedly  surveying  the  scene. 

"Yes,  sah,  an'  de  gemmen  ober  yondah,  dey  all  sez 
dat  dey  nebbah  did  see  no  sech  a  ruckus. ' ' 

"Just  listen  ter  the  nigger  a  stringin'  the  tender- 
foot," said  one  of  Dixie's  companions. 

The  party  stopped  its  play  and  delightedly  listened 
to  the  dialogue  between  the  Englishman  and  the 
negro. 


396  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"How  extraor'nary,  really!  An'  do  they  operate 
on  eyes  here  often!" 

"Dey  done  operates  'bout  wonst  a  week,  boss — 
jes'  'bout  wonst  a  week.  De  gemmen  in  dis  yer  town 
is  de  most  playfullest  dat  I  ebber  seed  since  I  done 
'solved  partnership  wid  Mistah  George  M.  Pullman. 
Dem  gemmen  on  de  kyars  sho  was  de  cap  sheaf  ob 
all  I  ebber  did  see.  Dey  used  ter  shoot  each  udder 
thoo  de  kyurtains  ob  dey  all's  berths,  somethin' 
scandalous.  Berry  keerless  lot  o'  gemmen  on  dem 
sleepin'  kyars,  sah." 

The  Englishman  adjusted  his  monocle  and  slowly 
looked  Sam  over. 

"My  word!    I  should  think  so,  really." 

"Now,  what  d'ye  think  o'  that?"  exclaimed  one  of 
the  crowd  of  miners.  "Let's  git  up  a  rough-house 
an'  'nitiate  that  sucker.  Jim,  go  tip  it  off  ter  Dix- 
ie." 

The  man  addressed  as  "Jim"  went  to  Dixie's 
table  and  whispered  in  that  worthy's  ear,  flirting 
his  thumb  toward  the  Englishman. 

"Great!  Hot  stuff!"  exclaimed  Dixie,  "but  be 
damned  careful  where  you  pint  them  guns !  Some  o ' 
you  fellers  hadn't  oughter  be  trusted  with  shootin' 
irons,  nowhow." 

"Oh,  don't  worry,  Disie,"  interposed  the  gambler, 
who  intuitively  sensed  the  fun  that  was  coming. 
"Nothing  will  be  hurt  but  the  floor  and  the  ceiling, 
and  McGinnis'll  have  to  stand  for  that.  It'll  help 
his  trade  along.  This  town  has  got  one  foot  in  the 
grave  anyhow,  and  needs  something  to  wake  it  up. ' ' 

Dixie  left  the  table  and  joined  the  men  at  the  bar. 

"Hey,  there,  Johnny  Bull!"  he  cried. 

The  Englishman  turned  toward  the  group  at  the 


INITIATING  A  TENDEEFOOT          397 

bar,  adjusted  his  eye-glass  and  calmly  surveyed  Dix- 
ie from  head  to  foot. 

"W.  Ponsonby  Smithers,  if  you  don't  mind.  An' 
I'm  not  at  all  keen  on  that  'Johnny  Bull'  stuff,  dont- 
cher  know." 

"All  right,  Ponsy,  old  sox,"  replied  Dixie,  "we'll 
let  it  go  at  that — an'  cut  out  the  J.  B.  stuff.  Come 
an'  have  a  drink." 

Mr.  Smithers  evidently  was  not  so  sensitive  in  the 
matter  of  convivial  invitations  as  he  was  regarding 
the  taking  of  liberties  with  his  dignity. 

"Don't  mind  if  I  do,  really." 

As  Smithers  lined  up  with  the  miners,  Dixie  hit 
him  a  resounding  whack  between  the  shoulders, 
knocking  the  breath  clean  out  of  him,  and  exclaiming : 

You  're  all  right,  pard !    Ain  't  he,  boys  I ' ' 
.  "Betcher  life!"  "He's  the  real  thing!"   "Noth- 
in'  to  it ! "  cried  the  miners  in  raucous  and  inharmon- 
ious chorus. 

Mr.  Smithers  replaced  the  monocle  in  his  orbit, 
it  having  been  jarred  out  of  its  receptacle  by  Dixie's 
warm  greeting. 

"How  extraor'nary,  really!  So  glad  I'm  fit,  don't- 
cher  know. ' ' 

"What '11  ye  have,  pard?  Nominate  yer  pizen," 
said  Dixie. 

"I'll  have  a  bottle  of  Bass,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"The  hell  ye  say!"  snorted  McGinnis,  resting 
his  big  hands  on  the  bar  and  leaning  over  it  toward 
the  Englishman.  "The  fishin'  season's  over,  me 
laddie  buck,  an'  begorra,  ye '11  be  afther  takin'  some 
ould  rye,  I'm  thinkin',  unless  yez  want  a  scuttle  o' 
suds." 

Smithers  cynically  inspected  McGinnis 's  huge 
bulk  through  his  monocle  before  replying. 


398  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Will  I,  really!  But  I'm  no  horse,  don'tcher 
know." 

The  crowd  could  not  contain  itself  any  longer,  but 
laughed  and  stamped  its  feet  until  the  bottles  and 
glasses  behind  the  bar  actually  danced. 

Smithers  looked  bewildered,  and  Dixie  came  to 
the  rescue. 

"Maybe  you  ain't  a  horse,  Ponsy,  but  you're  a 
thoroughbred  just  the  same.  Ye  see,  'rye'  means 
whiskey,  the  best  stuff  on  earth  fer  tenderfeet — 
toughens  'em  right  up. " 

"Quite  so!  rawther  clevah  idea,  that!"  ejac- 
ulated Smithers.  "Eye!  Whiskey!  Don't  mind  if 
I  do.  I'll  take  it  neat,  bar-keeper,  if  you  don't 
mind." 

"Will  yez  though?"  growled  the  belligerent  Mc- 
Ginnis.  "Begobs,  ye '11  take  it  sthraight,  Misther 
Tinderfoot!" 

Smithers  made  another  deliberate  monocular  in- 
spection of  the  landlord. 

"Will  I,  really?  how  extraor 'nary ! "  • 

Glasses  were  filled  all  around,  the  Englishman 
taking  a  liberal  portion  of  McGinnis's  justly  cele- 
brated "red-eye." 

"Well,  here's  how,"  said  Dixie,  and  the  crowd 
clinked  glasses. 

^    "Your  very  good  health,  gentlemen,"  responded 
Smithers. 

The  liquor  went  sizzling  on  its  gladsome  way  to- 
ward the  arid  regions  that  lay  concealed  in  the 
anatomies  of  the  miners.  Smithers  struggled  man- 
fully with  his  own  dose  of  liquid  fire  and  succeeded 
in  downing  the  major  portion  of  it.  He  set  his  glass 
upon  the  bar  and  gasped  and  strangled  as  if  he  had 
inhaled  the  liquor  instead  of  drinking  it. 


INITIATING  A  TENDEEFOOT  399 

"Very  good  name  for  your  spirits,  bar-keeper, — 
very  good,  indeed!"  he  sputtered,  %  when  he  had 
caught  his  breath.  '  *  Me  throat  is  twisted  all  awry ! ' ' 

The  crowd  howled  at  the  Englishman's  pun,  which 
he  perpetrated  with  an  immobility  of  countenance 
the  ludicrousness  of  which  redeemed  the  flatness  of 
his  humor. 

Dixie  glanced  across  the  room  at  the  card-players 
and  surreptitiously  nodded  his  head. 

"What  ye  got,  pard?"  asked  one  of  the  players, 
taking  his  cue. 

"A  king  full,"  replied  the  gambler,  laying  his 
hand  down  on  the  table. 

The  miner  rose  and  yelled  furiously. 

"By  God!  You're  cheatin'!  You've  been  hand- 
in  '  me  a  cold  deck ! ' ' 

' '  You  're  a  liar,  damn  you ! ' ' 

The  miner  instantly  drew  a  pistol,  the  gambler 
grappled  with  him  and  the  two  went  to  the  floor  to- 
gether, apparently  fighting  like  a  pair  of  belligerent 
roosters,  overturning  the  tables  and  several  chairs, 
and  scattering  cards,  bottles  and  glasses  in  all  di- 
rections. As  the  men  fell,  the  miner's  pistol  went 
off,  the  bullet  harmlessly  imbedding  itself  in  the 
ceiling.  The  negro  porter  rushed  up  to  Smithers, 
who  was  coolly  surveying  the  combat,  and  grasped 
him  by  the  arm. 

' '  Dar  dey  goes  again,  boss !  What  'd  I  tell  you  all ! 
Hunt  a  hole,  boss,  hunt  a  hole!  Bar's  a  sho  'miff 
scrimmage  comin'  now,  an'  dey  all  gwine  ter  shoot 
somethin '  promiskus ! ' ' 

Smithers  was  cool  and  imperturbable,  and  Sam  let 
go  of  his  arm  and  ran  upstairs  as  if  he  feared  for 
his  life. 

A  number  of  the  men  drew  guns,  and  everybody 


400  TBUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

started  for  places  of  safety.  Some  dodged  beneath 
the  tables ;  others  upset  tables  and  got  behind  them ; 
the  greater  number  hid  behind  the  bar.  Those  who 
had  pulled  guns,  peered  out  from  their  points  of 
vantage  and  fired  shot  after  shot  at  the  walls  and 
into  the  floor,  pretending  the  while  to  be  shooting 
at  anybody  and  everybody  in  sight. 

Now  Smithers  obviously  was  not  an  excitable  per- 
son ;  apparently,  also,  he  was  not  a  timid  sort.  The 
boys  at  the  Miners'  Best  that  night  were  pretty 
shrewd  judges  of  human  nature,  but  for  once,  they 
had  made  an  egregious  mistake  in  sizing  up  their 
man. 

It  is  perhaps  unfair  to  disappoint  the  reader  of 
this  narrative,  who  naturally  expects  at  this  point 
the  revelation  that  Smithers  was  a  British  nobleman 
in  disguise,  who  was  touring  the  west  in  search  of 
adventure,  but  truth  compels  the  narrator  to  acknow- 
ledge that  his  nobility  was  of  the  natural,  not  the 
titular  sort.  He  was  just  a  plain  British  citizen, 
the  son  of  a  moderately  prosperous  London  trades- 
man, who  had  invaded  the  West  for  purely  com- 
mercial reasons. 

Underlying  the  Englishman's  psychology,  how- 
ever, was  the  spirit  that  has  characterized  the  Briton 
the  world  over.  It  was  this  spirit  that  made  Brad- 
dock's  men  obey  orders  and  stand  in  serried  ranks 
to  be  shot  down  by  savages ;  it  conquered  India ;  it 
planted  the  Union  Jack  of  Old  England  on  the  heights 
of  Abraham ;  it  died  at  Balaklava  and  at  Lucknow ; 
many  years  later  it  stood  at  parade  on  the  Eoyal 
Victoria  and  went  down  with  the  ship;  still  later, 
it  obeyed  fool  orders,  or  waved  a  pitiful  little  tin 
sword  and  gave  orders,  while  the  Mauser  bullets  of 
the  Boers  were  aiding  the  flower  of  the  British  army 


INITIATING  A  TENDERFOOT  401 

to  bravely  and  uselessly  sacrifice  their  lives — and 
but  yesterday  it  fired  the  souls  of  the  gallant  thous- 
ands who  fought  against  the  Kaiser's  hordes. 

Had  those  American  pioneers  at  the  Miners '  Rest 
reflected  a  little,  they  would  have  remembered  that 
the  spirit  of  Old  England  underlay  the  reckless 
bravery  of  many  of  them.  But  they  did  not  remem- 
ber this,  and  as  Dixie  sagely,  if  tritely,  remarked, 
they  learned  that  night  that  "it  ain't  safe  ter  figure 
out  how  far  a  cat  kin  jump  by  jest  lookin'  at  it." 

Smithers  deliberately  stepped  to  the  center  of 
the  room,  planted  his  monocle  firmly  in  place,  and 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  small  pearl-handled  revol- 
ver. 

"How  extraor'nary,  really!"  he  drawled,  as  he 
cocked  his  pistol  and  calmly  looked  about  him  in 
search  of  a  target. 

"Here,  you  fellers!"  cried  Dixie,  excitedly,  from 
behind  his  barricade  of  an  overturned  table, '  *  dowse 
the  glim,  somebody,  quick!  That  damned  tender- 
foot 's  comin '  into  the  game ! ' ' 

"Ah!  there  you  are!"  exclaimed  the  tenderfoot, 
deliberately  firing  at  the  miner. 

Dixie  promptly  went  back  to  cover,  and  amid  a 
fusillade  of  shots  the  lights  went  out,  leaving  the 
place  in  total  darkness. 

Smithers  did  not  seem  to  mind  the  interruption 
caused  by  the  shooting  out  of  the  lights,  but  popped 
away  until  he  had  fired  five  more  shots,  and  then  con- 
tinued snapping  the  pistol  as  if  he  thought  its  cham- 
bers were  inexhaustible. 

Dixie  carefully  counted  the  petulant  explosions 
of  the  diminutive  gun. 

"Six!  boys,"  he  cried.    "Guess  the  game's  about 


402  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

played,  unless  he 's  got  another  pop-gun.  Light  up, 
Joe." 

McGinnis  produced  several  extra  lamps  and  light- 
ed them,  disclosing  the  Englishman  still  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  holding  his  smoking  pis- 
tol in  one  hand  and  fumbling  after  his  dangling 
monocle  with  the  other. 

"My  word!"  he  drawled,  "How  extraor'nary, 
really!" 

At  this  moment  Tom  Horton  appeared  at  the  door 
and  took  in  the  scene.  He  strode  into  the  room  and 
glanced  searchingly  at  the  crowd. 

"What  in  hell's  goin'  on  here,"  he  demanded,  "a 
Fourth  o'  July  celebration?" 

Smithers  dawdled  up  to  the  sheriff  and  peered 
at  him  inquiringly  through  his  eye-glass. 

"Ah,  my  good  friend;  do  you  happen  by  any 
chawnce  to  have  any  spare  ammunition  about  you?" 

Everybody's  face  wore  a  broad  grin.  From  be- 
hind the  table  Dixie  caught  the  sheriff's  eye  and 
winked  prodigiously.  Horton  comprehended  and 
had  a  tremendous  battle  with  his  own  risibilities. 

"Ammunition?"  he  snorted,  with  a  comical  glance 
at  the  Englishman's  pistol.  "Nary  a  pea;  just  got 
back  from  shootin'  hummin'  birds." 

"It's  all  right  boys;  come  out,"  he  called  to  the 
miners.  "He's  out  o'-ca'tridges." 

The  men,  guns  in  hand,  cautiously  emerged  from 
their  hiding  places,  looking  as  sheepish  as  only 
practical  jokers  on  whom  the  tables  have  been  turned 
can  look. 

"Put  up  that  cannon,  Mr. — whatever  yer  name  is," 
commanded  the  sheriff. 

"W.  Ponsonby  Smithers,  at  your  service,  sir." 


INITIATING  A  TENDERFOOT  403 

"Thanks,  Mr.  Smithers.  As  I  was  sayin',  put  up 
yer  cannon.  The  game 's  over.  Five  minutes  is  the 
limit." 

"But,"  said  Smithers,  looking  concernedly  at  his 
revolver,"  it 's  so  blasted  hot,  don'tcher  know,  that 
it  might  bally  well  burn  me  trousers." 

"All  right,"  laughed Horton,  "cool  her  off,  then." 

Sam  now  stuck  his  woolly  head  over  the  balustrade 
at  the  top  of  the  stairway  and  surveyed  the  scene, 
his  eyes  rolling  as  if  he  were  frightened  half  to 
death. 

"Is  dey  all  through  wid  dat  promiskus  gun-plav, 
Mistah  Sheriff?" 

"All  through,  Sam.  Come  down  an'  count  noses. 
Line  up  there,  ye  damned  lobsters!" 

A  number  of  the  men  stood  in  line  and  Sam  pro- 
ceeded to  count  them. 

' '  One,  two,  three,  f  o ' ' ' — here  he  lapsed  into  a  fit 
of  abstraction— <;fo'  'leben  fo'ty-fo'—  " 

* '  Come  out  of  it,  ye  black  rascal ! ' '  cried  Horton. 

"Eh,  oh  yes,"  resumed  Sam,  dreamily,  "five,  six 
— come  seven — good  'leben — " 

The  sheriff  gave  him  a  stiff  punch  in  the  ribs. 

"See  here,  nigger,  what  d'ye  think  ye 're  doin'; 
shootin'  craps?" 

"Eh?  Oh,  'scuse  me,  Mistah  Sheriff,"  Sam  ram- 
bled on,  "seben — come  'long  good  seben — why,  dey's 
one  missin',  Mistah  Sheriff!  Dat's  what  comes  o' 
dis  yere  promiskus  shootin'!" 

At  this  point  the  negro  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  hairy 
face  in  the  far  corner  of  the  room,  peeking  out  of 
the  cellar,  the  trap  door  of  which  the  miner  was  ten- 
tatively raising  with  his  head. 

"So,  dar  yo  is,  Mistah  Jim  Brown!  Climb  out 
o'  dat  cellar,  an'  come  heah  an'  git  yo'self  counted." 


404  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

The  miner  emerged  from  his  underground  refuge, 
and  lined  up  with  the  rest  of  the  crowd. 

1 « Eight !  Done  got  'em  all,  Mistah  Sheriff ! ' '  snick- 
ered Sam. 

During,  the  business  of  checking  up,  Smithers 
looked  on  in  open-mouthed  amazement,  alternately 
adjusting  his  monocle  and  gazing  wonderingly  at 
his  undersized  gun. 

"By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed;  "quite  extraor'nary, 
really!  I'm  sure  I  discharged  me  piece  six  times, 
don'tcher  know?  I  cawn't  understand  it,  I  really 
cawn't!" 

The  crowd  went  into  spasms  at  this  naive  state- 
ment. 

"Huh!  It's  damned  lucky  the  lights  went  out, 
Ponsy,  old  sox,"  chuckled  Dixie,  "you'd  ha'  busted 
a  tooth  or  peppered  an  eye  for  somebody,  sure." 

"The  gentleman's  score  is  entirely  excusable," 
interposed  the  sheriff.  "He  ain't  used  ter  shootin' 
in  the  dark,  but  I'm  ashamed  o'  you  fellers,  an' 
Smithers  has  got  ye  all  beat  fer  sand." 

"An'  that's  no  dream,  ye  rascals,"  he  added  in 
an  aside. 

"Put  away  yer  guns,  ye  miserable  duffers!"  con- 
tinued Horton.  "You  win,  Mister  Smithers.  Let 
me  congratulate  ye;  you've  got  'em  all  beat  a  city 
block." 

1 '  He  sure  has, ' '  yelled  everybody  in  chorus.  '  *  We 
knew  he  was  all  right!" 

"How  extraor'nary,  really!"  observed  Smithers, 
critically  peering  at  the  crowd  through  his  eye- 
piece. 

Dixie  whacked  the  Englishman  on  the  back  and 
again  knocked  the  breath  out  of  him,  sending  his 
monocle  flying. 


INITIATING  A  TENDERFOOT  405 

"  You  're  a  dead  game  sport,  old  boy!" 

Smithers  regained  his  breath  after  a  brief  strug- 
gle and  recovered  his  eye-glass,  which  was  dancing 
at  the  end  of  its  string. 

"Am  I,  really?  Thanks,  awfully,  old  chap.  An' 
if  I've  won,  I  suppose  it  would  be  good  form  to  ask 
you  all  to  have  a  drink,  don  'tcher  know. ' ' 

Smithers  repaired  to  the  bar  and  everybody  in 
the  room,  except  Sam,  lined  up  two  deep  for  the 
libation.  The  negro  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  thirstily  surveying  the  scene  and  rolling  his 
eyes  in  piteous  entreaty  at  McGinnis,  until  the  lat- 
ter roared  at  him  the  gentle  reminder  that  if  he 
did  not  assist  in  serving  the  crowd,  a  certain  "nig- 
ger's" head  was  "goin'  ter  be  busted." 

"Bar-keeper,"  said  Smithers,  "let's  have  a  little 
rye,  all  around. ' ' 

When  the  glasses  were  filled,  McGinnis  took  pity 
on  Sam,  set  out  a  bottle  and  glasses  on  the  end  of 
the  bar  and  called  to  the  negro : 

* '  Here,  Sam,  ye  lazy  scut !    Ye  're  in  on  this  wan. ' ' 

Sam  helped  himself  to  a  huge  drink  and  was  in 
the  act  of  pouring  it  down  his  parched,  capacious 
gullet,  when  McGinnis  caught  sight  of  the  brimming 
glass. 

"Ye  black  swine!"  he  yelled,  "d'ye  want  a  towel 
for  that  bath?" 

"No,  sah,"  chuckled  Sam,  "I  dries  out  right 
quick — quicker  dan  mos'  folks.  I'se  a  warm  baby,  I 
is." 

The  crowd  laughed  at  the  negro's  retort,  touched 
glasses  and  drank.  Sam  tossed  off  his  drink, 
smacked  his  thick  lips,  wiped  his  mouth  with  the 
back  of  a  fat,  black  paw  and  went  to  work  with  a 
will,  washing  glasses  and  putting  the  room  to  rights. 


406  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"What's  the  matter  with  Ponsy?"  shouted  a 
miner. 

"He's  all  right!"  howled  the  crowd. 

'  *  Who 's  all  right ! ' '  cried  somebody. 

"Ponsy!"  was  the  answering  yell. 

"Come  on,  boys,"  cried  Dixie,  "let's  take  our 
new  pard  here  ter  the  show.  We  might  as  well 
finish  the  evenin '  right,  while  we  're  about  it. ' ' 

The  boys  hustled  for  the  door,  followed  by  Dixie 
and  Smithers,  who  went  out  arm  in  arm. 

Dixie  turned  at  the  door  and  called  to  Horton : 

"Won't  ye  come  along,  Tom?  We  may  need  the 
sheriff  ter  keep  order." 

"Thanks,  no,"  retorted  the  sheriff,  satirically, 
1 '  you  ain  't  a  goin '  t '  need  me.  You  lobsters  couldn  't 
hit  a  flock  o '  barns.  But, ' '  he  laughed,  "  I  'm  mighty 
glad  that  Mr.  Smithers  is  out  o'  ammunition." 

With  his  wonted  calmness  and  deliberation,  Smith- 
ers fixed  a  monocled  stare  on  Horton  and  looked  him 
over  from  top  to  toe. 

"Most  extraor'nary,  really!  Eawther  odd  sort  o' 
chap,  that,  don'tcher  know." 

As  the  strangely  assorted  pair  disappeared,  Hor- 
ton and  McGinnis  fairly  shrieked  with  merriment. 

' '  Don 't  that  beat  ye,  Joe  ? "  gasped  Horton.  < '  What 
do  ye  think  o'  that  for  a  tenderfoot?" 

"Tinderfoot?  Hell!"  exploded  McGinnis.  "If 
that  Britisher  iver  learns  ter  handle  a  .44,  Oi'll 
back  him  agin  th'  whole  town,  bedad!  Lord!  if  he 
only  had  a  little  rale  ould  Irish  blood  in  him ! ' ' 

"He  don't  need  any  mixin'  o'  blood,  Mac,"  said 
Horton,  gravely.  "That  kind  o'  tenderfoot  has 
made  a  whole  lot  o'  hist'ry,  an'  they're  makin'  it 
yet.  Some  feller  wrote  a  poem  once  about  a  gang 
o'  the  same  kind  o'  suckers  that  went  up  against  a 


INITIATING  A  TENDEEFOOT  407 

lot  o'  big  cannons,  just  because  some  damned  fool 
made  a  mistake  an'  give  'em  the  wrong  orders.  There 
was  six  hundred  of  'em  went  in,  an'  there  wasn't  a 
corporal's  guard  come  out.  They  was  all  shot  ter 
hell. 

"I'm  beginnin'  ter  understand  that  'Bule  Britan- 
nia' business  them  Englishmen  sings  about,  a  little 
better 'n  I  used  ter,"  he  went  on,  "an'  say,  Joe,"  he 
chuckled,  "that  damned  galoot  hollered  for  more 
ca'tridges!  What  d'ye  think  o'  that?  Wonder  if 
he'd  like  a  job  as  dep'ty  sheriff  ?" 

"Holy  Saint  Patrick!"  shouted  McGinnis,  con- 
vulsed with  merriment,  "he'd  scare  th'  whole  town 
ter  death,  bedad!" 

There  was  a  rustle  of  skirts  and  Mrs.  McGinnis 
and  Ellen  appeared  at  the  door. 

"He'd  have  troubles  of  his  own  scarin'  this  party 
that's  comin',  eh,  Mac?"  whispered  the  sheriff. 

"Moses  an'  the  prophets,  Tom!"  muttered  Mc- 
Ginnis, "here's  where  I  git  mine.  She's  got  blood 
in  her  oye.  If  Oi'd  only  got  the  place  cleaned  up  a 
bit  before  she  got  home ! ' ' 

"Wait  here  a  minute,  darlin',"  said  Mrs.  Mc- 
Ginnis to  her  daughter. 

The  woman  belligerently  advanced  toward  the 
two  men,  suspiciously  sniffing  the  air  and  angrily 
viewing  the  evidences  of  the  recent  rough-house, 
which  Sam  had  not  yet  had  time  to  remove. 

"Howdy,  Sheriff?"  she  said,  stiffly,  and  then 
like  an  enraged  Amazon  confronted  her  husband. 

"Pfwat's  been  goin'  on  here,  Joe  McGinnis?" 

Mine  host  looked  as  if  he  had  been  caught  with  a 
dead  sheep  over  his  shoulder. 

«W— why— nothin',  Molly  dear." 

His  wife  again  sniffed  the  smoke-laden  air  and 


408  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

glared  about  her  at  the  awful  disorder  of  the  room. 

"Nothin',  eh?"  she  roared;  "d'ye  think  Oi'm 
blind,  an'  that  me  nose  is  par'lyzed?  Where 'd  all 
the  powder  smoke  come  from,  hey?" 

"Run  along  upstairs,  acushla,"  she  called  to  her 
daughter. 

"Yes,  mother,"  replied  the  girl,  sympathetically 
glancing  at  her  father,  upon  whom,  in  spite  of  his 
rough  exterior,  she  really  doted. 

Mrs.  McGinnis  shook  a  by  no  means  delicate  fist 
menacingly  under  the  stalwart  Irishman's  nose. 

"So,  thim  dirty  blackguards  have  been  shootin' 
up  the  place  agin,  eh?" 

"Just  a  little  sport  the  boys  was  havin',  that's 
all,  ma'am,"  soothingly  interposed  Horton. 

She  turned  upon  the  sheriff  and  blazed  indig- 
nantly : 

1 '  Shport !  eh  ?  Shport !  It  ain  't  your  put  in,  Tom 
Horton.  I'll  tell  yez  wan  thing,  ye  big  loafer,"  she 
raged,  returning  to  the  sheepish  McGinnis,  "if  yez 
can't  keep  this  place  respictable  whin  me  back's 
turned,  I'll  give  ye  a  chance  ter  git  another  job !" 

Sam  was  industriously  polishing  a  tumbler  and 
trying  to  look  composed.  When  the  lady  intimated 
that  she  might  fire  McGinnis,  in  his  trepidation  he 
dropped  the  glass  to  the  floor,  smashing  it  into 
fragments  that  flew  all  over  the  room.  The  irate 
woman  furiously  turned  upon  the  negro. 

"An'  you,  too,  ye  big,  clumsy,  black  gorilla,  ye!" 

Sam  was  so  awe-stricken  that  he  could  only  stand 
helplessly  looking  at  her  with  his  cavernous  mouth 
agape,  rolling  his  eyes  like  a  couple  of  enormous, 
agitated  marbles. 

"Yis,  Molly  dear,  but — "  McGinnis  began,  ca- 
jolingly. 


INITIATING  A  TENDERFOOT  409 

"Don't  yez  'Molly  dear'  me  agin,  ye  big  shpal- 
peen!  That  beloved  husband  business  don't  go  with 
me — just  renumber  that.  If  yez  had  ter  do  some  rale 
wurruk  f  er  a  livin '  f  er  a  little  while,  maybe  ye  'd  ap- 
preciate the  soft  shnap  ye've  got." 

A  violent  fit  of  coughing  diverted  the  lady's  at- 
tention from  her  thoroughly  cowed  better-half. 

"Sam,  ye  black  thief  o'  the  wurruld!"  she  cried, 
as  soon  as  she  could  speak,  *  *  open  all  thim  windows 
an '  let  that  vile  shmoke  out.  It 's  that  thick  yez  could 
cut  it  with  a  knife. ' ' 

The  negro  obeyed,  meanwhile  warily  keeping  an 
eye  on  her  as  though  he  expected  things  to  be  thrown 
at  him.  Having  opened  the  windows,  he  quietly 
sneaked  out  of  the  back  door. 

Mrs.  McGinnis  now  returned  to  the  attack. 

"Joe  McGinnis,  ye  can  tell  that  gang  o'  loafers 
an'  toughs  that  hangs  out  here  iv'ry  night,  that  here- 
after they  can  buy  their  drinks  an'  git  out.  I'll 
have  no  more  o'  that  gun  business,  an'  pfwat's  more, 
ye  can  tell  'em  that  if  there's  any  more  of  it  in  this 
place,  I  '11  take  a  hand  mesilf  with  a  mop  shtick. ' ' 

She  turned  a  scornful  eye  on  Horton : 

"If  the  sheriff  hain't  got  sand  enough  in  his 
craw  to  kape  the  loafers  an'  bums  o'  this  town  in 
order  /  have.  D'ye  hear  that  Misther  Tom  Hor- 
ton?" 

With  a  final  look  of  withering  contempt  at  the 
thoroughly  subdued  victims  of  her  wrath,  the  boss 
of  the  Miners'  Best  majestically  stalked  upstairs. 

Horton  ostentatiously  lit  his  pipe  and  said  nothing 
for  a  space. 

"It's  a  warm  evenin',  Mac,"  he  finally  observed 
slyly,  between  puffs. 

McGinnis  produced  a  large  red  handkerchief,  drew 


410  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

it  across  his  perspiring  brow  and  grinned  in  shame- 
faced fashion. 

"Thrue  for  you,  Misther  Horton,"  he  agreed;  "I 
disremimber  iver  seein'  any  weather  in  th'  Hills 
that  was  quite  so  war — rm." 


CHAPTEB  XXV 

LUCK  STRIKES  THE  HOUSE  OF 

One  sultry  August  afternoon,  some  weeks  after 
the  lively  reception  tendered  to  Smithers  by  certain 
playful  citizens  of  Deadwood,  Tom  Horton  had  oc- 
casion to  visit  the  Miner's  Eest  in  quest  of  informa- 
tion as  to  the  whereabouts  of  a  party  who,  for  ob- 
vious reasons  was  not  especially  anxious  to  meet 
the  sheriff. 

As  the  matter  at  issue  was  certain  horses  that 
had  been  found  to  be  illegally  in  the  aforesaid  party's 
possession  and  had  been  identified  as  the  property 
of  one  of  his  fellow-townsmen,  and  the  penalty  for 
horse  stealing  in  the  west  having  been  amicably 
agreed  upon  by  honest  men  of  all  classes,  the  per- 
son for  whom  the  sheriff  was  seeking  hardly  could 
be  blamed  for  being  somewhat  coy  and  retiring. 
He  was  the  less  blamable  because  the  jail  at  Dead- 
wood  was  a  flimsy  affair  which  offered  inadequate 
shelter  from  lynching  parties. 

It  was  not  ''stage  day"  and  the  miners  were  still 
at  work,  hence  business  was  dull  at  McGinnis'  ever- 
popular  bar.  Only  an  occasional  citizen  who  be- 
longed to  the  limited  class  of  the  unemployed, 
dropped  in  to  quench  a  chronic  dryness  of  the 
throat,  made  more  avid  by  the  hot  weather  and 
the  idleness  that  always  lead  the  victim  of  that 


412  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

particular  form  of  thirst  toward  him  of  the  suave 
smile  and  white  apron. 

McGinnis  stood  behind  the  bar  alternately  wiping 
the  sweat  from  his  perspiring,  red  face,  and  vigor- 
ously cursing  Sam,  who  was  peacefully  dozing  in  a 
chair  tipped  back  against  the  wall  in  a  remote  corner 
of  the  room,  his  cavernous  mouth  wide  open  in  a 
fashion  most  enticing  to  the  industrious  swarms  of 
flies  that  were  buzzing  about,  and  his  thick  lips  blub- 
bering with  his  raucous  breathing. 

Nobody  had  been  in  for  some  time,  and  finding 
that  his  peppery  vocabulary  had  disturbed  Sam  not 
in  the  least,  McGinnis  seated  himself  on  a  convenient 
beer  keg  and  followed  the  negro's  philosophic  ex- 
ample. 

Hardly  had  mine  host  dropped  off  into  a  doze 
punctuated  by  snores  that  sounded  like  a  blowing 
hippopotamus,  when  he  was  aroused  by  the  entrance 
of  one  of  those  irresponsible  bums  who  are  the  espec- 
ial thorns  in  the  sides  of  the  presiding  geniuses  of  all 
well-regulated  drink-parlors,  the  world  over. 

McGinnis  half  opened  his  eyes  and  glared  malig- 
nantly at  the  disreputable-looking  disturber  of  his 
peace  and  comfort  who,  with  the  besotted  stupidity 
of  the  alcoholic  down-and-out,  foolishly  disregarded 
the  danger  signal. 

"Say,  Mac,"  he  whined,  "blow  a  feller  off  ter 
some  nose-paint,  won't  ye?  I  hain't  had  a  drink  all 
day,  an'  I'm  burnin'  up." 

McGinnis  slowly  rose  to  his  feet.  There  was  a 
tinge  of  joy  in  his  resentment  of  the  interruption  of 
his  siesta.  Here  was  an  opportunity  to  get  out  of 
his  system  the  irritation  produced  by  the  annoy- 
ances of  the  day,  that  the  Irishman  would  not  have 


LUCK  STRIKES  HOUSE  OF  McGINNIS  413 

missed  for  the  world.  His  black  helper  usually  at- 
tended to  such  cases,  but  this  one ! — 

"Oi'd  see  yez  in  hell  first!"  he  thundered,  so 
emphatically  that  Sam  awoke  with  a  start,  his  teeth 
coming  together  with  a  loud  snap  which  was  quite 
demoralizing  to  the  flies,  and  blinked  sleepily  at 
the  subsequent  proceedings. 

1 1  Ah !  Have  a  heart,  Mac.  Just  one  finger, ' '  quav- 
ered the  bum. 

"Oi've  told  yez  twinty  toimes  that  the  shlate  is 
broke !  Git  out  o '  here,  damn  ye ! " 

McGinnis  was  so  eager  to  vent  his  spleen  on  who- 
ever was  handiest  that  he  did  not  wait  to  see  whether 
the  bum  would  obey  orders  or  not,  but  grabbing  the 
fellow  by  the  collar  and  the  slack  of  his  trousers, 
hustled  him  to  the  open  door  and  with  a  vigorous 
application  of  a  ponderous  dexter  foot,  sent  him 
flying  clear  into  the  middle  of  the  street,  where  with 
a  loud  grunt  he  landed  in  a  sitting  position  in  the 
ankle-deep  dust  and  sat  dazedly  looking  about  him 
as  if  he  were  not  quite  certain  what  had  happened. 

As  his  boss  crumpled  up  the  unfortunate  bum  and 
threw  him  out  of  the  door,  Sam  chuckled  softly  to 
himself. 

"De  Irish  troops  done  fit  noble;  dey  sho'ly  did!" 

Having  thus  officially  rendered  his  expert  approv- 
al of  the  manner  in  which  his  employer  had  attended 
to  the  porter's  duty,  the  negro  peacefully  resumed 
his  slumbers. 

McGinnis  surveyed  with  grim  satisfaction  the  hu- 
man wreckage  he  had  so  summarily  ejected. 

"There,  ye  scum  o'  the  earth!  How  d'ye  loike 
the  leather  cocktail?  Wan  finger,  eh?  "Wan  foot  is 
about  your  size,  an'  if  ye  come  inter  me  place  agin, 


414  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Oi'U  thrun  the  boots  inter  yez  right,  an'  don't  ye 
fergitit!" 

Horton  came  up  just  as  the  belligerent  but  now  se- 
renely contented  Irishman  was  ostentatiously  dust- 
ing his  mighty  hands,  with  a  final  glare  at  the  luck- 
less bum,  who  still  was  sitting  in  the  street,  stupidly 
gazing  at  a  group  of  passers-by  that  had  gathered 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way  and  evidently  were 
hugely  enjoying  the  scene. 

The  sheriff  at  a  glance  comprehended  what  had 
happened.  He  went  to  the  social  derelict  and  helped 
him  to  his  feet. 

"Pull  yer  freight,  my  friend,"  said  he,  not  un- 
kindly, "an'  keep  away  from  this  end  o'  town  here- 
after. It  ain't  good  fer  you." 

"Funny,  ain't  it,  boys?— I  don't  think!"  he  re- 
marked, sarcastically,  turning  to  the  group  of  laugh- 
ing men. 

He  entered  the  hotel,  followed  by  McGinnis  who, 
like  the  crowd  in  the  street,  was  rather  mystified  by 
the  sheriff's  remark. 

"Lettin'  off  steam,  eh,  Mac?"  inquired  Horton, 
when  he  and  the  Irishman  had  taken  their  orthodox 
relative  positions  on  opposite  sides  of  the  bar. 

"Just  a  little,  Misther  Sheriff,"  grinned  McGin- 
nis. "That  damned  bum  gits  on  me  nerves,  an'  Oi 
made  up  me  moind  ter  settle  him,  this  toime." 

There  was  an  odd  light  in  Horton 's  eyes  as  he  re- 
plied, reminiscently : 

"I  remember  that  pore  devil,  Yank  Billings,  when 
he  first  struck  this  town — that  was  before  your  day, 
Joe.  When  he  landed  here,  he  looked  just  about  th' 
same  as  th'  rest  of  us — only  a  bit  more  ter  the  spruce. 
He  come  from  a  farm,  somewheres  down  in  the  little 
old  state  o'  Maine.  Never  saw  much  o'  the  world 


LUCK  STRIKES  HOUSE  OF  McGINNIS  415 

till  he  left  the  old  home,  I  reckon.  Anyhow,  I'll  bet 
he  didn  't  buck  agin  no  faro  banks  or  women — an '  no 
gin-mills,  Joe,  down  at  The  Corners.  He  jest  couldn't 
face  the  music  here  in  this  place,  that 's  all. ' ' 

McGinnis  looked  bewilderedly  at  the  Sheriff,  who 
went  on  with  his  homily. 

"Now,  I  ain't  no  philos'pher,  an'  I  ain't  had  none 
too  much  learnin,'  Mac,  but  I've  jest  about  concluded 
that  when  the  Almighty  hands  out  the  man-stuff  to 
us,  He  gives  jest  a  little  bit  more  stiff 'nin'  ter  some 
fellers  than  he  does  ter  others.  I  don't  want  ter 
knock  yer  bizness,  Joe,  fer  the  hand  that  passes  out 
the  booze  helps  ter  feed  fellers  in  my  perfession, 
but  I'm  thinkin'  that  p'raps  it  would  ha'  been 
better  fer  Yank  if  ye'd  ha'  give  him  th'  boot  before 
he  got  broke.  I've  noticed  that  with  some  folks  a 
booze-fighter  ain't  never  a  'bum'  till  he's  plumb  bust- 
ed." 

Both  the  ironical  shaft  and  the  homely  philosophy 
that  preceded  it,  went  clear  over  McGinnis 's  head. 

"Thrue  for  you,  Sheriff,  an'  begorra!  as  yez 
caught  me  in  th'  act  o'  committin'  assault  an'  bat- 
tery—" 

"An'  thro  win'  'bums',  Joe,"  interrupted  Horton. 

"Be  the  piper!  that  was  a  good  wan,  Misther  Hor- 
ton!" exclaimed  McGinnis,  admiringly. 

"Thankee,  Mac,  ye  was  about  ter  remark — " 

"I  was  goin'  ter  say — though  not  by  way  o'  brib- 
in'  an'  officer  o'  the  law,  sorr — that  wan  on  the  house 
was  comin'  t'  yez." 

"If  it  is  a  bribe,  I'll  stand  for  it,  Joe.  A  little 
dust-dissolve r — jest  the  right  dose,  so  that  I  won't 
get  full  o'  mud — an'  I'll  acquit  ye  of  all  criminal 
intent.'/ 

McGinnis  produced  the  requisite  fluids  and  the 


416  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

two  men  duly  irrigated  their  respective  departments 
of  the  interior. 

Horton  "bought"  in  turn,  and  the  social  ameni- 
ties thus  having  been  duly  observed,  he  proceeded 
to  interrogate  McGinnis  as  to  his  knowledge  of  the 
whereabouts  of  the  horse-thief. 

"Begorra!"  said  McGinnis,  cunningly,  "Oi've 
been  hearin'  a  lot  o'  talk  about  Pete  Sloan  fer  the 
lasht  wake.  Some  says  wan  thing,  an'  some  says 
another,  but  divil  a  bit  o '  sense  kin  Oi  make  out  of  it 
all." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  replied  the  sheriff,  dryly,  " Which 
means  that  you  ain't  lost  no  horses,  eh,  Mac!" 

"Divil  a  wan,  sorr,  divil  a  wan." 

"Nor  yer  nerve,  either,  Joe." 

"Sorraabit,  Tom." 

"You're  a  damned  good  business  man,  McGinnis." 

"D'ye  think  so,  sorr?  Oi'm  glad  to  hear  ye  say 
that,  Misther  Sheriff." 

"Oh,  it's  comin'  to  ye,  Mac." 

"Thankee,  sorr." 

"By  the  way,  Joe,  Bill  Harkins  and  Pete  Sloan 
are  pretty  good  friends,  ain't  they?" 

"Well,  t'  tell  yez  the  truth,  now,  Misther  Horton, 
I  couldn't  say.  Don't  b'lieve  that  Bill  iver  said 
innythin '  about  Pete,  but  maybe  he  has  at  that,  sorr ; 
maybe  he  has. ' ' 

Horton  was  too  wise  to  question  the  wily  and  dis- 
creet McGinnis  any  further. 

"All  right,  Mac,  we'll  let  it  go  at  that.  An'  if  ye 
ever  want  a  recommend  as  a  diplermat,  come  ter 
yours  truly. ' ' 

"Thankee,  Sheriff,  thankee,"  replied  McGinnis, 
gratefully,  without  in  the  least  knowing  what  a  dip- 
lomat was. 


LUCK  STRIKES  HOUSE  OF  McGINNIS  417 

"Yes,  yer  a  diplermat,  all  right,  Mac,  but  I'm  a 
goin'  ter  get  that  feller,  Sloan,  just  the  same." 

"That'll  bark  no  hide  off'n  my  shins,  Misther 
Horton,  yez  kin  jist  bank  on  that." 

"I've  got  ye,  Joe.  I  know  yer  on  the  level,  even 
if  ye  don't  talk  as  free  as  some  folks.  Eeckon  yer 
all  right  at  that." 

Horton,  however,  did  not  get  the  horse  thief.  A 
party  of  cowboys  caught  the  malefactor  a  few  days 
later  and  saved  the  sheriff  a  lot  of  bother.  The  ver- 
dict of  the  coroner's  jury  ran  something  like  this: 

"Died  from  havin'  too  much  air  under  his  feet, 
an'  too  little  in  his  breathe-works. " 

A  woman's  voice  was  heard  at  the  door.  Horton 
suddenly  jumped  as  if  somebody  had  jabbed  a  pin 
into  him,  but  pulled  himself  together  and  with  af- 
fected indifference  went  to  the  cracker  and  cheese 
box  at  the  end  of  the  bar,  helped  himself  and 
munched  away  as  if  he  were  not  sure  of  getting  his 
supper  and  proposed  to  forestall  a  possible  disap- 
pointment in  that  direction. 

McGinnis  looked  expectantly  toward  the  door  and 
saw  Miss  Weatherson  and  Bob  Parker  enter  and 
pass  behind  the  screen  into  the  hotel  office. 

"It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  see  me  home,  Mr. 
Parker, ' '  said  the  young  woman,  gratefully,  offering 
her  hand. 

.  "Yes,  I  was  good — to  one  Bob  Parker,"  he  replied, 
clasping  the  slim  white  fingers  and  gallantly  bowing 
over  them. 

"Be  careful,  now,"  she  laughed,  warningly,  "this 
is  not  the  effete  east,  you  know. ' ' 

"For  which  I  am  duly  thankful — and  because  of 
which  I  can  be  really  sincere,  Miss  Weatherson." 


418  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Which  remark  was  merely  by  way  of  emphasis, 
of  course,  Mr.  Parker." 

"Certainly,  and  by  way  of  leading  up  to  a  very 
vital  question.  May  I  call  tomorrow  evening?" 

"Mrs.  McGinnis's  stuffy  parlor  again!"  she  an- 
swered, merrily.  "Never!  But  I'll  gladly  compro- 
mise with  you.  Call  for  me  after  school  and  escort 
me  home.  My  star  pupil,  Ellen,  will  chaperon  us." 

"Thank  you,"  he  laughed,  "but  not  for  the  chap- 
eron. ' ' 

"Ah,  but  the  chaperon  is  unavoidable,"  she  re- 
plied, archly.  "Ellen  has  formally  appointed  her- 
self to  the  office.  She  had  just  left  me  and  run 
on  ahead  when  you  caught  up  with  me  a  while  ago. ' ' 

"The  little  lady  didn't  know  I  was  coming,  of 
course." 

"I  am  not  quite  sure  as  to  that.  Au  revoir,"  and 
the  young  woman  tripped  lightly  up  the  stairs. 

He  followed  her  with  ardent  eyes  until  she  dis- 
appeared, then  with  a  despondent  sigh  and  a  gesture 
of  self-depreciation  walked  slowly  toward  the  en- 
trance of  the  bar-room. 

"Ye  kin  guess  who's  comin',  Sheriff.  I'll  give 
yez  jist  wan  guess,"  chaffed  McGinnis. 

"I'm  not  good  at  guessin',  Joe,  an'  my  ears  are 
mighty  bad,"  said  Horton,  adding  in  an  aside  which 
escaped  the  Irishman, l '  sometimes — thank  God ! ' ' 

As  Parker  entered  the  bar-room,  Horton,  gener- 
ous fellow  and  sincere  friend  that  he  was,  rushed  to 
meet  him  and  grasped  both  his  hands  in  his  own. 

"Well,  Bob,  I  thought  sure  ye'd  cut  stick  an'  left 
us  f er  good !  Where  in  blue  blazes  have  ye  been  f er 
the  last  three  days?" 

"As  that  distinguished  member  of  the  Sons  of 
Best  over  yonder  would  say,"  replied  Parker,  point- 


LUCK  STRIKES  HOUSE  OF  McGINNIS  419 

ing  at  the  sleeping  negro,  "  'I've  jes'  been  projeck- 
in'  round  a  little.'  " 

"I  should  think  ye  had,"  said  Horton,  noting  that 
his  friend  wore  a  riding  outfit  and  was  covered  with 
dust.  "Ye  look  like  a  picture  of  a  feller  on  the  high 
road  hit  by  a  cyclone.  When  did  ye  git  back?" 

"I  struck  town  about  an  hour  ago.  And  how  is 
old  Tom?" 

"Fine  as  a  cotton  hat,  Bob." 

Parker  turned  to  McGinnis. 

"And  how  goes  it  with  you,  Mac?" 

"Bully!  Misther  Parker— bully !" 

"And  the  Missus,  Joe?" 

"Foine,  sorr,  foine,  barrin'  a  little  spell  o'  dish- 
position,  now  an'  thin.  She  ain't  niver  quite  got  over 
the  last  tinderfoot  reciption,  an'  as  she's  took  Mr. 
Ponspnby  Smithers  under  her  wing,  she  hands  me 
wan  ivry  wonst  in  a  while  about  us  ignoramuses  not 
knowin'  how  to  trate  a  rale  gintleman  at  all,  at  all. 
Not  that  she  loikes  the  English  bucko — which  she 
don't  so  that  yez  could  notice  it,  so  yez  needn't  be 
jealous,  Misther  Horton — but  he  '11  do  as  well  as  inny 
wan  f er  an  excuse  f er  family  ructions. ' ' 

"And  where  do  you  come  in,  Tom?"  queried  Par- 
ker. 

"Oh,  I've  been  doin'  a  thinkin'  part,  an'  keepin' 
away  from  this  dump  as  much  as  I  could.  I  got 
enough  o'  Mrs.  Mac's  opinions  o'  yours  truly,  the 
night  o'  the  English  tenderfoot's  party,  ter  last  me 
fer  a  while."  Horton  snickered  at  the  recollection. 

"So  I  heard,  Tom,"  smiled  Parker;  "that's  what 
a  man  who  is  supposed  to  officially  uphold  the  law 
gets  for  being  an  accessory  to  hazing  a  poor  tender- 
foot." 

"I  wasn't  no  'accessory,'  I  was  referee,"  chuckled 


420  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Horton.  ' 'But  say,  Bob,  the  very  looks  o '  you  makes 
me  dry.  Doc  McGinnis,  let 's  have  some  more  o '  that 
famous  dust-dispeller  o'  yourn — an'  give  this  crazy 
Indian  some  o'  yer  strongest  soda  water." 

McGinnis  produced  the  thirst-alleviators  and  the 
two  friends  filled  their  glasses. 

"Get  in  the  game,  Mac,"  invited  Horton. 

"Sure  an'  Oi  don't  mind  if  I  do." 

McGinnis  poured  a  libation  for  himself,  and  the 
liquid  volley  was  fired  by  the  party  with  due  regard 
to  the  traditional  customs  and  etiquette  of  the  bar 
spirituous. 

"What  did  ye  dig  up,  Bob?"  interrogated  Horton. 
"Ye  was  gone  so  long  that  I  didn't  know  but  ye'd 
be  comin '  back  with  the  mother  lode  in  yer  pocket. ' ' 

"Haven't  struck  dear  old  mamma  yet,  Tom,  al- 
though, as  our  mutual  friend,  Smithers,  would  say, 
'I  have  me  hopes.'  But  I  made  a  pretty  good  bag 
at  that.  Incidentally  I  proved  that  that  fellow  Ath- 
erton  is  a  skunk  of  the  first  odor. ' ' 

"Oh,  is  he  though?"  asked  Horton.  "He  never 
did  look  good  ter  me,  but  I  wondered  if  I  wasn't 
sufferin'  from  an  attack  o'  sleuthitis.  What's  he 
been  doin',  an'  where,  an'  when,  an'  at  what  time 
does  the  sheriff  o'  Deadwood  take  a  hand?" 

"It's  not  your  play — yet,"  responded  Parker,  "but 
I  guess  you'd  better  stick  around,  at  that.  If  this 
town  ever  really  discovers  that  fellow's  true  char- 
acter, you  may  have  to  save  one  perfectly  fine  vil- 
lain from  being  mussed  up  by  an  enraged  populace. ' ' 

"So,  that's  the  lay,  is  it?    Tell  us  about  it,  Bob." 

"Hold  your  horses,  Tom,"  said  Parker.  "We'll 
let  you  have  the  road  in  a  minute.  By  the  way, 
Mac,"  he  asked,  casually,  "what  did  Atherton  offer 


LUCK  STRIKES  HOUSE  OF  McGINNIS  421 

Mrs.  McGinnis  for  that  prospect  hole  that  she  took 
for  Dixie's  board  bill!" 

"Foive  hundred — an'  it's  highway  robbery  ter 
take  it,  but  that  Nop  Yarker's  twinty-wan  years  old, 
an'  oughter  have  his  eye  teeth  cut  by  this  toime,  so 
Oi  told  th'  ould  woman  ter  take  him  up,  begorra." 

"So,  you  think  it  would  be  robbery  to  take  his 
five  hundred,  do  you,  Mac?"  queried  Parker,  amus- 
edly, finishing  his  soda  and  setting  down  his  empty 
glass. 

"Oi  sure  do,  an'  pfwat  the  divil  the  ould  woman 
sint  yez  off  on  that  wild  goose  chase  fer,  is  more'n 
the  loikes  o'  me  kin  guess." 

"Because  she's  got  the  brains  o'  the  family,  Joe," 
put  in  Horton. 

' t  Begorra,  Sheriff !  Oi  'm  thinkin '  yer  right — bar  - 
rin',  av  course,  th'  kid,"  laughed  McGrinnis. 

"But  where  is  Mrs.  McGinnis,  Joe?"  asked  Par- 
ker. 

"She  an'  Ellen  come  in  a  little  while  ago  an'  they 
both  wint  up-shtairs." 

"Ask  her  to  come  down,  Mac.  I  have  some  news 
for  her." 

"Well,"  said  McGinnis,  doubtfully,  "seein'  it's 
yerself,  an'  ye  have  somethin'  partic'lar  ter  say  to 
her,  Oi'll  call  her  down,  but  it's  on  yer  own  responsi- 
bility, Misther  Parker,  moind  that,  now.  She 's  been 
a  bit  peevish  lately,  eh,  Sheriff?" 

"Just  a  little  bit,  Joe,"  chuckled  Horton. 

McGinnis  went  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  called : 

"Molly  dear." 

"Huh!"  Mrs.  McGinnis  acidly  replied  a  moment 
later  from  the  head  of  the  stairs.  "It's  'Mollie 
dearin' '  me  ye  are  agin,  eh?  Pfwat  divilment  are 
yez  plannin'  now,  I  wonder." 


422  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

The  Irishman  dodged  an  imaginary  missile,  stepped 
around  the  partition  into  the  bar-room  and  said,  in 
a  horse  whisper : 

''The  Lord  help  ye,  Misther  Parker,  if  ye  hain't 
got  some  good  news  f er  the  ould  woman !  Oi  know 
th'  symptoms,  an'  Oi'm  afther  thinkin'  it's  cloudin' 
up." 

Winking  at  Parker  and  Horton  he  again  called  to 
the  companion  of  his  joys  and  dispenser  of  his  trou- 
bles: 

"Misther  Parker  is  back,  Molly  dear,  an'  he  says 
will  yez  plaze  come  down. ' ' 

' '  Sure,  an '  is  it  Misther  Parker  that  wants  ter  see 
me?  Av  course  Oi'll  come  down!" 

The  lady  joyfully  descended  the  stairs,  the  men 
passing  into  the  hotel  office  and  meeting  her  just  as 
she  was  about  to  enter  the  bar-room.  Pointedly  ig- 
noring Horton,  Mrs.  McGinnis  regally  swept  up  to 
Parker  and  .gave  him  a  cordial  handshake. 

"Good  afthernoon,  Misther  Parker,  an'  are  yez 
back  agin,  safe  an'  sound?" 

"As  well  as  a  fish,  Mrs.  McGinnis,  and  twice  as 
happy." 

"Bob's  always  well — an'  sometimes  happy,"  ven- 
tured Horton,  tentatively. 

Putting  her  arms  akimbo,  Mrs.  McGinnis  turned 
and  icily  looked  Horton  over  as  if  she  had  just  be- 
come conscious  of  his  presence  and  was  not  quite 
sure  of  his  identity. 

"So,"  she  sneered,  "ye 're  here  agin,  are  yez, 
Misther  Tom  Horton?  It  do  be  aisier  wor-r-k  hold- 
in'  up  McGinnis 's  bar  than  chasin'  horse  thieves — 
an'  a  whole  lot  safer." 

Horton  bowed  in  as  courtly  a  fashion  as  any  cav- 


LUCK  STRIKES  HOUSE  OF  McGINNIS  423 

alier  could  have  done,  his  huge  felt  hat,  which  he 
held  in  his  hand,  almost  sweeping  the  floor. 

"You  sure  are  some  good  guesser,  ma'am,"  he 
grinned. 

"Let's  not  start  a  guessing  school,"  interposed 
Parker,  good-humoredly.  "I  inspected  your  mine, 
as  I  promised  to  do,  Mrs.  McGinnis.  Just  as  I  sus- 
pected, that  fellow  Atherton  had  obtained  some  in- 
side information  and  had  been  doing  a  little  inves- 
tigating on  his  own  hook.  I  had  sized  him  up  as  a 
shark  and  I  was  sure  that  something  was  wrong  as 
soon  as  I  heard  that  he  had  made  you  that  generous 
offer.  Atherton  is  a  graduate  of  Wall  Street,  where 
one  or  two  thousand  per  cent  is  considered  a  legit- 
imate rake-off — for  the  insider.  He  hasn't  quite 
got  the  smell  of  the  Street  off  him  yet.  He  was  play 
ing  you  for  a  sure  thing,  Mrs.  McGinnis. ' ' 

"Pfwat's  that?  A  sure  thing!"  she  exclaimed, 
bewilderedly,  "an'  pfwat  iver  d'yez  mane  by  that, 
sorr?" 

"I  mean,"  he  quietly  replied,  "that  there's  a  good 
million  in  that  mine,  if  there's  a  red  cent." 

"Glory  be!"  cried  the  delighted  woman.  "Oi'll 
hug  ye  f er  that,  Misther  Parker ! ' ' 

She  was  as  good  as  her  word  and  almost  strangled 
the  young  man  in  her  vigorous  expression  of  appreci- 
ation. Just  as  he  was  on  the  verge  of  asphyxia, 
she  let  go  of  his  neck  and  turned  her  attention  to 
her  husband,  who  was  too  overcome  to  utter  a 
sound. 

'  *  Come  out  of  it,  y '  ould  fool  ye ! "  she  cried,  shak- 
ing him  violently  and  pounding  him  on  the  back  till 
he  was  blue  in  the  face.  "D'yez  hear  that,  ye  blith- 
erin'  numskull,  ye?  D'ye  hear  that,  ould  man? 
We're  rich  as  Crocus!  An'  now  Ellen  can  have  a 


424  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

pi-anny — an'  she  kin  go  to  wan  o'  thim  varnishin' 
schools,  God  bless  her!" 

McGinnis  partially  regained  his  breath. 

"Yer  not  sthringin'  us,  Misther  Parker?"  he 
gasped. 

"Not  the  least  bit,"  replied  Parker,  heartily, 
you  're  on  the  highroad  to  wealth,  Mac,  old  boy. ' ' 

The  Irishman  grabbed  the  young  man's  hand  and 
squeezed  it  until  the  bones  cracked. 

"Hooray!  No  more  worruk  fer  Joseph  McGin- 
nis, Esquire ! ' ' 

"No  more  pfwat?"  sneered  his  wife,  coldly. 

"No  more  tindin'  bar!" 

"An'  yez  call  that  worruk,  do  yez ?  Oi '11  have  yez 
understand  that  th'  worruk  o'  this  house  is  done  on 
this  soide  o '  that  partition.  D '  yez  remimber  pfwat 
Oi  was  afther  sayin'  ter  ye  th'  night  whin — " 

"Come,  come,"  interposed  Parker,  conciliatorily, 
"you  folks  would  better  take  a  belated  honeymoon, 
when  you  have  sold  the  mine,  and  adjust  your  dif- 
ferences after  you  get  out  of  town. ' ' 

With  the  emotional  instability  of  her  race  and  sex, 
Mrs.  McGinnis  suddenly  burst  into  tears  and  threw 
herself  into  her  husband's  arms. 

"Sure,  an'  Misther  Parker  is  right,  Joe!"  she 
sobbed,  "but  whin  we  take  our  honeymoon,  we'll  not 
be  afther  worryin '  our  fool  heads  about  inny  differ- 
ences at  all  at  all." 

"See  here,  Bob,"  whispered  Horton,  "are  you 
dead  sure  about  that  prospect  hole?  It  never  looked 
good  to  me,  an'  I  ain't  just  exactly  a  raw  one,  ye 
know. ' ' 

"I  don't  blame  you  for  being  skeptical,  Tom,  but 
it's  a  cinch,  just  the  same.  The  whole  lot  of  you, 
Dixie  in  particular,  overlooked  a  bet,  that's  all,  and, 


LUCK  STEIKES  HOUSE  OF  McGINNIS  425 

to  give  the  devil  his  due,  I  'm  not  sure  that  Atherton 
doesn't  deserve  a  discoverer's  medal  at  that,  the 
infernal  scalawag!" 

1 ' Well,  fer  a  feller  that's  been  down  on  his  luck, 
you're  some  freak  when  it  comes  ter  findin'  fortunes 
fer  other  folks,  Bob." 

"Yes,  Tom,  but  it's  easier  to  sit  in  judgment  on 
other  folk's  prospects  than  on  your  own.  All  the 
same,  what  I've  done  for  the  McGinnises  has  given 
me  more  faith  in  myself.  I'm  going  to  strike  it — 
and  strike  it  rich — before  I'm  done  with  the  game. 
I  'm  sure  that  I  'm  right  and  have  been  headed  right 
all  the  time." 

"That's  the  stuff,  Bob!"  exclaimed  Horton,  af- 
fectionately putting  a  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder. 

Mrs.  McGinnis  released  her  husband  and  drying 
her  eyes  on  her  apron,  sniveled : 

"There  ain't  no  mishtake  about  it,  Misther  Par- 
ker?" 

"No,  my  good  friend,  there  can  be  no  mistake. 
I  acquired  more  than  a  smattering  of  mining  and 
minerals  at  college,  as  a  practical  working  adjunct 
to  my  profession  of  engineering,  and  while  I  my- 
self have  been  a  rather  unsuccessful  digger,  and  am 
a  little  rusty,  I  still  know  a  good  thing  in  ore  when 
once  it's  uncovered.  The  McGinnis  family  has  the 
world  by  the  horns.  The  claim  is  the  kind  that  cap- 
italists tumble  all  over  themselves  to  get." 

"The  Lord  bless  ye,  Misther  Parker!  Sure  an' 
Oi  must  tell  Ellen  all  about  it!" 

The  excited  woman  started  up  the  stairs  on  a 
run,  exclaiming: 

"Ellen!  Oh,  Ellen!  Mavourneen!  Where  are 
yez?" 

She  stumbled  when  half  way  up  the  stairs  and  fell 


426  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

down  several  steps.  She  must  have  been  shaken  and 
bruised  considerably,  but  she  rose  to  her  feet  and 
tore  up  the  stairs  as  if  bad  falls  to  her  were  merely 
a  pleasant  and  healthful  diversion. 

Parker  followed  as  far  as  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
and  shot  a  parting  word  of  advice  after  her. 

1 '  Oh,  by  the  way,  Mrs.  McGinnis !  Keep  the  mine 
business  to  yourself,  and  caution  Ellen  to  keep 
quiet.  If  Atherton  approaches  you  again  about  the 
mine,  say  nothing  of  what  I  have  told  you.  I'll  at- 
tend to  all  that.  Just  turn  him  down,  that 's  all. ' ' 

"Turn  him  down,  th'  shpaipeen !  Turn  him  down, 
is  it!"  she  replied.  "He'll  be  knocked  down,  an' 
Oi'll  attind  ter  that,  Misther  Parker!" 

"An*  she  will,  too,  an'  don't  ye  fergit  it,"  said 
her  husband,  with  confidence  born  of  sad  experience. 

' '  Come,  gintlemin, ' '  McGinnis  continued,  with  the 
dignified  air  befitting  one  whose  fortunes  had  been 
touched  by  the  magic  hand  of  Midas,  "ye '11  be  afther 
indulgin'  in  some  o'  the  besht  in  th'  house,  as 
speshul  giiists  an'  f rinds  o'  the  proprietor,  th'  Hon- 
orable Misther  Joseph  McGinnis,  Esquire." 

With  the  pompous  carriage  of  a  drum-major,  he 
led  the  way  to  the  bar,  lining  up  with  his  two  friends 
in  front  of  it. 

"Sam,  ye  lazy  divil,  ye!"  he  roared  at  the  negro, 
who  was  sitting  in  his  accustomed  chair  and,  as 
usual,  comatose,  "shtir  yer  clumsy  monkey  shtumps 
an'  ser-r-ve  us  gintlemin  with  some  ref rishmints ! " 

Sam  awoke,  and  in  wild-eyed  amazement  rushed  to 
the  rear  of  the  bar  and  set  out  the  drinks. 

"Are  yer  glasses  filled,  gintlemin?" 

"All  ready,  sir,"  chorused  Parker  and  Horton, 
raising  their  glasses. 

"Thin  here's  t',the — the — pfwat  the  divil  was  that 


LUCK  STRIKES  HOUSE  OF  McGINNIS  427 

ye  said  th'  McGinnis  family  was  on,  Misther  Par- 
ker?" 

' '  The  high-road  to  wealth,  sir, ' '  replied  the  young 
man,  gravely. 

1  'That's  it,  sorr,  that's  it!  Well  gintlemin,  here's 
ter  th'  high-road  ter  wilth!" 

"An'  now,  gintlemin,"  said  McGinnis,  looking  at 
his  watch,  which  resembled  a  town  clock,  "it's  almost 
supper  toime  an' — " 

"Tea  time,  Mr.  McGinnis,"  corrected  Parker,  sob- 
erly. 

Ah !  yis,  so  'tis.  Thank  ye,  Misther  Parker.  Well, 
as  I  was  afther  sayin',  it's  almost  tay  toime,  an'  it 
would  give  great  plisure  ter  me  wife  an'  daugh- 
ther  an '  mesilf ,  if  yez  would  take  tay  wid  us. ' ' 

The  two  friends  accepted  the  invitation  and  their 
host  led  the  way  to  a  table  near  by  and  asked  them  to 
be  seated,  pending  meal-time. 

"Samuel,"  he  ordered,  "fetch  us  some  seegars — 
some  o'  them  speshuls,  in  the  box  under  th'  bar." 

The  porter  obeyed  and  the  party  lit  their  cigars 
and  settled  down  for  a  brief  smoke. 

Sam  started  out  of  the  door  at  the  rear  of  the 
bar-room,  leading  to  the  dining  room. 

"Samuel,"  called  McGinnis,  "yez '11  plaze  be  af- 
ther notifyin'  us  whin  tay  is  sarved." 

"Yes,  boss,"  and  the  bewildered  Sam,  with  eyes 
bulging  like  a  couple  of  white,  black-centered  door- 
knobs, backed  through  the  door  and  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

HORTON  HEARS  SOME  INTERESTING  THINGS  AND 
CENSORS    THE    PRESS 

The  guests  and  regular  boarders  at  the  bountiful 
table  of  the  Miners'  Rest  that  memorable  evening 
were  conscious  of  an  unwonted  tension  in  the  air. 

The  unusual  dignity  and  pompousness  affected 
by  Mr.  McGinnis  were  noted  by  all,  and  even  those 
who  were  ignorant  of  the  causes  that  underlay  them, 
found  his  " uppish"  airs  very  entertaining.  Some 
of  the  diners  had  considerable  trouble  in  restraining 
outward  expression  of  their  humorous  appreciation 
of  mine  host's  ludicrous  antics.  Eespect  for  his 
authority  and  physical  prowess,  rather  than  innate 
courtesy,  possibly  may  have  been  largely  responsible 
for  the  ability  of  some  of  the  guests  to  preserve 
their  gravity. 

Parker  and  Hortpn  slyly  winked  at  each  other 
several  times,  but  aside  from  this  surreptitious  man- 
ifestation of  interest,  succeeded  in  looking  uncon- 
cerned, although  they  were  the  most  amused  of  the 
entire  party. 

Mrs.  McGinnis  was  as  red  as  a  turkey  cock,  with 
suppressed  emotions.  Being  naturally  voluble,  yet 
forbidden  to  talk  about  the  wonderfully  good  fortune 
of  the  family,  she  underwent  tortures  all  through 
the  meal. 

Ellen,  too,  was  , eagerly  intense  with  suppressed 


THE  SHERIFF  CENSORS  THE  PRESS    429 

excitement,  in  which  doubts  of  the  authenticity  of 
the  good  news  and  consequent  fear  of  disappoint- 
ment held  a  prominent  place. 

Sam  relieved  the  situation  a  little  by  his  awk- 
wardness in  waiting  on  the  table.  Between  the  poor 
fellow's  natural  clumsiness  of  movement  and  the  be- 
wilderment produced  in  his  mind  by  the  queer  ac- 
tions of  his  employers,  the  negro  was  having  a 
hard  time  of  it,  and  he  was  not  made  altogether  un- 
happy by  the  explosions  of  temper  with  which  Mrs. 
McGinnis  greeted  some  of  his  ungainly  maneuvers. 
When  finally  he  stumbled  and  fell,  spilling  upon  the 
floor  a  tray  full  of  viands,  with  a  resultant  promis- 
cous  mixture  of  broken  dishes,  food  and  sprawling 
Ethiopian,  everybody  burst  out  in  a  loud  guffaw 
which  served  as  a  timely  safety-valve  for  their  pent- 
up  emotions. 

The  copious  vials  of  wrath  poured  upon  his  de- 
voted head  by  the  irate  Mrs.  McGinnis  and  her 
equally  infuriated  spouse,  whose  dignity  was  for  the 
moment  quite  forgotten,  made  the  negro  feel  thor- 
oughly at  home  once  more. 

The  guests,  too,  were  restored  to  their  usual  good 
spirits  and  equanimity,  and  finished  their  meal  in 
the  best  of  humor,  joshing  Sam  most  unmercifully 
and  even  venturing  to  take  a  few  playful  liberties 
with  the  doughty  McGinnis  himself,  whose  affecta- 
tion of  dignity  now  was  completely  shattered. 

Parker  and  Horton  pointedly  enjoyed  the  situa- 
tion, greatly  to  the  mystification  of  Miss  Weather- 
son,  who  sat  between  them,  and  to  whom  they  had 
not  confided  the  portentous  secret  of  the  windfall 
that  had  come  to  the  house  of  McGinnis. 

The  meal  finished,  the  male  boarders  repaired  to 
the  bar-room  or  to  the  veranda  of  the  hotel  to  di- 


430  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

vert  themselves  each  in  his  own  fashion,  leaving 
the  women  of  the  household  to  attend  to  the  dishes. 

Having  some  papers  to  mark,  the  shool-teacher 
retired  to  her  room,  and  did  not  reappear. 

Parker  and  the  sheriff  provided  themselves  with 
chairs,  seated  themselves  upon  the  veranda  and 
proceeded  to  make  themselves  as  comfortable  with 
their  pipes  as  the  warm  August  evening  permitted, 
commiserating  poor  McGinnis  who,  though  he  now 
was  rich  as  " Crocus,"  would  for  some  time  be  com- 
pelled to  remain  at  his  wearisome  post  and  cater  to 
the  omnipresent  and  omnipotent  Deadwood  thirst. 

Mrs.  McGinnis  and  Ellen  having  finished  their 
rather  onerous  domestic  duties  for  the  evening,  re- 
paired to  the  upper  regions  of  the  hotel.  The  young 
girl,  however,  evidently  was  unable  to  contain  her- 
self and  shortly  afterward  quietly  returned  to  the 
hotel  office.  Through  the  open  door  she  saw  the 
two  friends,  who  were  still  sitting  on  the  steps 
engaged  in  quiet  conversation. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Parker!"  she  called. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  answered  the  young  man,  "what 
can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Won't  you  come  here  for  just  a  moment,  please? 
I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"Surely  I  will,  Ellen,"  and  he  knocked  the  ashes 
from  his  pipe  and  joined  her. 

"Say,  Mr.  Parker!"  she  whispered,  eagerly,  "is 
it  really  true  about  the  mine?  Are  we  really  going 
to  be  rich?" 

"No,  little  girl,  not  going  to  be — you  are  rich — 
and  very  rich." 

"My!  isn't  it  wonderful?  And  now  I'm  really 
going  to  school  in  the  east,  and  study  music,  and 
have  a  grand  piano,  and  pretty  clothes,  just  like 


THE  SHEEIFF  CENSORS  THE  PEESS    431 

in  the  fashion  books  and — why,  Mr.  Parker,  it  is 
just  like  a  fairy  tale !" 

"Yes,  little  girl,"  smiled  Parker,  sympathetically, 
"and  a  Prince  Charming  may  come — who  knows?" 

He  looked  up  and  saw  Mr.  W.  Ponsonby  Smithers 
standing  at  the  door,  undeniably  swaying  on  his 
feet  and  gravely  regarding  Ellen  and  himself. 

"If  what  I  hear  is  true,"  he  continued,  "here  he 
comes  now.  Two's  company  and — you  know  the 
rest,  Ellen,"  he  laughed,  "so  good  night,"  and 
calling  to  Horton  to  join  him,  he  entered  the  bar- 
room. 

As  he  passed  Smithers,  Parker  greeted  him  cordi- 
ally. 

"Evenin' — hie! — Mishter  Parker,"  hiccoughed 
the  Englishman,  blinking  as  gravely  as  an  owl 

"Humph!"  muttered  the  young  man  to  himself, 
"I'm  not  so  sure  about  the  'charming.'  That  fel- 
low is  learning  the  ropes  mighty  fast." 

The  miner  and  his  friend,  the  sheriff,  proceeded 
to  the  bar,  where  McGrinnis  was  serving  a  number 
of  thirsty  patrons,  and  Smithers,  putting  on  a  bold 
front,  accosted  Ellen. 

' '  Evenin ',  Mish— Mish— hie !— Ellen. ' ' 

She  did  not  at  once  comprehend  the  situation. 

"Why  were  you  not  here  for  supper,  Mr.  Smithers, 
and  where  have  you  been  all  evening?  You  promised 
to  teach  me  cribbage ! ' '  she  said,  reproachfully. 

"Crib — cribbage,"  replied  the  Englishman,  thick- 
ly; " obsolete,  Mish  McGrinnish — hie! — obsolete! — 
hie! — po — poker's  only  fash — fash'nable  game — 
— what?  Crib— cribbage !  only  blawsted,  bloomin' 
tenderfootsh — hie! — play  crib— cribbage.  I'm  not 
keen  on  tenderfootsh,  don  'tcher  know,  Mish — Mish — 
hie ! — McGinnish. ' ' 


432  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 


The  girl  stared  at  him  in  horrified  astonishment. 

"Why,  Mr.  Smithers!     You're  intoxicated!" 

The  conversation  between  the  young  girl  and  her 
bibulous  caller  was  plainly  overheard  by  Parker 
and  Horton  and  also  by  McGinnis,  who  was  serving 
them  with  drinks  at  the  end  of  the  bar  nearest  the 
door. 

The  Irishman  started  to  pass  from  behind  the 
bar  with  the  evident  intention  of  belligerently  aid- 
ing his  daughter  in  the  entertainment  of  her  intox- 
icated visitor. 

"Don't  get  stampeded,  Mac,"  Horton  laughingly 
interposed,  "if  that  Englishman's  talk  ain't  any 
more  dangerous  than  his  shootin',  I  reckon  Ellen 
can  keep  up  her  end  o'  the  gab-fest,  all  right." 

"N — no,  I'm  not — not — hie! — intocshicated — not 
at  all,  Mish — Mish — hie! — McGinnish.  Boys  been 
fixin' — hie! — me  bloomin'  feetsh,  that'sh  all — sure, 
that'sh  all,  Mish— hie!  Mish  McGinnish!" 

"I  guess  they're  fixed  all  right,"  retorted  Ellen, 
scornfully,  "I  fancy  the  boys  have  pickled  most  of 
the  tenderness  out  of  them.  Good  night — Mr.  W. 
Ponsonby  Smithers ! ' '  and,  like  an  enraged  princess 
of  the  realm,  the  young  lady  wrathfully  swept  up 
the  stairs. 

During  the  conversation  Parker  and  Horton  were 
quietly  enjoying  the  passage  at  arms.  McGinnis 
was  compelled  to  struggle  so  violently  with  his  de- 
sire to  roar  with  delight  that  his  face  grew  purple. 
The  sheriff  playfully  jabbed  him  in  the  ribs. 

"D'ye  hear  that,  Joe?  She's  a  chip  off'n  the 
old  block.  Ye  see  I  was  right,  there  ain't  any  pickled 
Englishman  goin'  ter  git  away  with  anything  while 
there's  a  McGinnis  on  the  job." 

"Be  the  Lord!"  chuckled  McGinnis,  proudly,  "Oi 


THE  SHERIFF  CENSORS  THE  PRESS    433 

b'lave  yer  right,  Sheriff.    She  sure  did  soak  'im  a 
good  wan  that  toime ! ' ' 

Smithers  blinked  stupidly  after  the  indignant  El- 
len for  a  moment  and  then  entering  the  bar-room, 
wabbled  up  to  the  two  friends,  with  whom  McGinnis 
still  was  foregathered  at  the  bar. 

"Shay,  fellers,"  he  mouthed;  "come  on  an' — hie! 
— lesh — have  a — hie! — bloomin'  night-cap,  don'tcher 
— hie ! — know. ' ' 

"Sure  yez  kin  have  a  night-cap,"  said  McGinnis, 
grimly,  coming  round  the  end  of  the  bar  and  taking 
Smithers  by  the  arm.  "An'  yez  kin  have  a  foine 
soft  bed  along  wid  it,  me  laddie  buck." 

He  led  his  intoxicated  boarder  towards  the  en- 
trance of  the  hotel,  a  task  which  was  not  so  easy 
as  it  looked,  for  the  Englishman  resisted  to  the  best 
of  his  ability  and,  drunk  though  he  was,  showed  a 
muscularity  that  astonished  the  burly  Irishman  and 
gave  him  about  all  he  could  attend  to. 

"But,  I — hie! — shay,  me  good  man!"  protested 
Smithers,  en  route,  "I  don't  want  yer  bloomin'  bed 
— hie! — don'tcher  know.  What  d'ye  think  I  am, 
anyhow,  a  blawsted — hie ! — tenderf ootsh  ? ' ' 

McGinnis  turned  and  winked  at  the  two  friends 
and  puffed : 

1 '  Not  on  yer  blawsted,  bloomin '  loif  e ! ' ' 

The  recalcitrant  Smithers  finally  submitted  to 
superior  force  and  resignedly  allowed  his  captor  to 
conduct  him  upstairs  to  his  room. 

/'Say,  Bob,"  remarked  Horton,  as  mine  host  and 
his  captive  disappeared,  "it  looks  as  if  the  McGin- 
nises  was  in  f  er  a  son-in-law. ' ' 

So  I  hear,"  laughed  Parker.  "Does  Joe  suspect 
it?" 

"I  should  say  not!"  Horton  roared.     "Nobody 


434  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

would  dare  ter  even  hint  it  ter  McGinnis — let  alone 
ter  Mollie  dear.  An  Englishman ! — Holy  mackerel ! 
I  wouldn't  like  ter  be  the  man  ter  carry  the  news 
ter  Mary. ' ' 

"Well,  as  the  old  adage  has  it,  the  McGinnises 
might  go  farther  and  fare  worse,"  rejoined  Parker, 
seriously,  "unless  that  fellow  gets  so  thoroughly 
acclimated  that  he  acquires  the  booze  habit,  and  I 
don't  think  he  will — Ellen  will  attend  to  that. 

"Anyway,"  he  laughed,  "papa  and  mamma  would 
better  get  into  the  band  wagon.  Ellen  and  the  Eng- 
lishman are  going  to  have  a  bit  of  a  row,  but  when 
they  come  to  making  up,  they  are  going  to  get  on 
thin  ice — at  least  that's  what  usually  happens  in 
such  cases." 

"Not  knowin',  couldn't  say,  Bob,  but  you'd  ough- 
ter  know. ' ' 

"Just  as  an  onlooker,  Tom,"  rejoined  Parker, 
smilingly. 

"By  the  way,  Tom,"  he  continued,  "if  Smithers 
ever  marries  Ellen  and  the  girl  is  the  least  bit  like 
her  estimable  mother,  there's  going  to  be  a  lot  of 
poetic  justice  in  the  match.  There's  where  Ireland 
will  get  even  with  Merrie  England.  It  will  be  a  case 
of  home  rule,  all  right — which  nobody  can  deny. ' ' 

"I  wish  him  plenty  o'  joy,"  chuckled  Horton. 
"Mrs.  Mac  is  a  sort  of  a  bachelor's  consolation — 
an'  she's  one  hell  of  a  fine  specimen  of  a  woman  at 
that.  I  reckon  Joe  commenced  wrong  with  her. 
But  ye 're  right  about  one  thing,  Bob;  the  McGin- 
nises might  go  a  mighty  long  ways  farther  an'  get 
nothin'  but  the  worst  o'  the  bargain." 

"We  are  a  little  previous,  anyway,"  observed 
Parker,  "Smithers  hasn't  got  the  girl  yet." 

"It's  a  safe  bet  that  he  will  get  her,  though,"  as- 


THE  SHERIFF  CENSOES  THE  PRESS    435 

serted  Horton,  "He's  stuck  on  her  an'  lie  won't  quit 
till  he  lands  her,  high  an'  dry.  He's  like  the  rest  o' 
his  breed,  they  stick  like  a  pup  to  a  root  till  they 
get  what  they're  after.  An'  I'll  bet  ye  somethin' 
else,  Bob;  that  Johnny  Bull  ain't  such  a  damn  fool 
as  he  looks.  He's  like  the  singed  cat  they  tell  about, 
an'  he  ain't  got  through  foolin'  the  people  o'  this  lit- 
tle old  town  yet. ' ' 

"From  what  the  boys  who  initiated  him  say,  he's 
a  game  bird,  all  right, ' '  commented  Parker. 

"Game!  Why,  he's  game  as  a  pebble,  Bob.  He'd 
face  a  Bengal  tiger  an'  say,  'My  word!  What  an 
extraor'nary  large  kitten !  don'tcher  know' — an'  nev- 
er sweat  a  hair.  I've  staked  him  to  a  real  gun,  an' 
I'm  teachin'  him  ter  shoot." 

"I  noticed  that  he  was  toting  a  .44.  Why  don't 
you  get  him  to  shed  his  monocle,  Tom?  I  wonder 
how  he  stands  having  fun  poked  at  it." 

"Ye  can't  feaze  him,"  chuckled  Horton.  "I'll 
get  him  ter  quit  wearin'  that  thing  by  an'  by,  though. 
I'll  tell  him  he'll  never  make  a  gun-man  unless  he 
chucks  that  pane  o '  glass  inter  the  discard. ' ' 

"Well,  Tom,  for  an  Englishman,  he  is  becoming 
Americanized  pretty  fast." 

"Americanized!  Say,  Bob,  ye'd  jest  oughter  see 
that  feller  play  poker!  Ain't  got  no  more  expres- 
sion than  a  Chink.  He  jest  sets  there  an'  keeps  ye 
guessin',  an'  he's  as  cool  as  a  Dakota  winter — which 
is  goin'  some,  as  ye '11  discover  by  an'  by.  The  gang 
pretty  near  cleaned  him  out,  first  off,  but  he  kep '  on 
a  poundin'  away  until  he  got  the  hang  o*  the  game. 
He  got  a  remittance  from  home  the  other  day;  the 
boys  heard  about  it,  an'  the  way  they  went  after  it 
was  a  sight  ter  see.  They  got  him  ter  set  in  a  game 
at  Dutchy's  joint  a  few  nights  ago,  an'  when  he  got 


436  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

through  with  them  wise  guys  they  looked  like  the 
last  run  o '  shad.  When  he  left  f er  home  every  one  o ' 
them  suckers  was  stony  broke,  an'  Smithers  was 
totin'  a  roll  as  big  as  a  mule's  hind  leg.  That  roll's 
a  layin'  in  McGinnis's  safe,  right  this  minute,  I'll 
bet  you  a  ten  spot. ' ' 

An  inspiration  suddenly  struck  Horton. 

1  'See  here,  Bob,  why  don't  ye  hook  up  with  the 
Englishman?  He  wants  ter  get  inter  the  minin' 
game.  With  him  as  the  capitalist  in  a  small  way, 
an'  you  ter  do  the  hustlin',  it  would  be  a  good  thing 
ferbotho'ye." 

"You're  bound  to  make  him  lose  that  bank  roll, 
I  see,  Tom, ' '  laughed  Parker. 

"Don't  believe  he'll  lose  it,  an'  seein'  as  how  it's 
a  square  business  proposition  ter  put  up  to  him, 
he'd  get  a  run  fer  his  money,  anyhow,  an'  that's 
somethin' — in  these  diggin's." 

"Very  well,  Tom,  I'll  think  it  over.  Perhaps  Dr. 
Horton 's  gold  cure  wouldn't  hurt  Smithers,  anyway. 
Judging  by  my  own  experience  in  mining  it  would 
keep  his  mind  off  evil  associations.  That  would 
help  my  conscience  some  if  we  lost  out." 

Breathing  heavily  and  still  perspiring  from  his 
exertions,  McGinnis  returned,  resumed  his  place 
behind  the  bar  and  went  to  Sam's  assistance  in  his 
efforts  to  serve  a  party  of  men  that  had  just  en- 
tered. 

The  Irishman  mopped  his  streaming  face  as  he 
passed  the  two  friends  and  said,  with  an  appreci- 
ative grin: 

' '  Oi  got  him  inter  bed,  all  right,  but  fer  a  whoile, 
Oi  thought  he'd  be  afther  puttin'  me  ter  bed.  He 
sure  did  thry  his  damndest  ter  do  it.  Begorra,  he 
had  me  goin ',  wonst !  He  had  half  o '  me  clothes  off ! " 


THE  SHERIFF  CENSORS  THE  PRESS    437 

"What  a  damned  scoundrel  that  feller  Atherton 
is,  Bob!"  suddenly  ejaculated  Horton.  I'd  like — 
well,  I'd  like  ter  attend  ter  his  case  perfessionally 
— somehow  or  other. ' ' 

"I'm  afraid  that  you'd  not  be  very  popular  in 
Now  York,  Tom.  The  promoters  and  the  Wall 
Street  menagerie  wouldn't  take  to  you  very  kindly." 

"Probably  not.  There  ain't  a  whole  lot  o'  dif- 
ference between  some  fellers  that  calls  themselves 
promoters,  an'  out-an'-out  thieves.  Holy  smoke! 
Speakin'  o'  the  devil,  look  who's  comin'!" 

A  large,  slightly  portly  but  powerful-looking  man 
of  middle-age  was  entering  the  bar-room.  He  was 
rather  flashily  dressed,  silk-hatted,  with  a  large  dia- 
mond in  his  white  shirt  front  and  a  heavy  linked 
gold  watch-chain  stretched  across  his  massive  chest. 

With  his  iron  gray  hair,  black  eyes  and  ruddy  com- 
plexion, James  Atherton,  "mining  promoter"  and 
all-round  shark,  would  have  passed  for  a  fine-looking 
man  in  any  company.  He  even  would  have  been  at- 
tractive, if  his  expression  had  not  been  so  distinctly 
sinister  and  repellent. 

What  his  physiognomy  had  not  done  for  him  in 
unfavorably  impressing  the  minds  of  his  fellow- 
citizens  of  Deadwood,  had  been  suggested  by  his 
actions  during  the  eight  months  or  so  that  he  had 
sojourned  in  the  Hills.  Several  deals  that  Atherton 
had  pulled  off — and  a  few  others  that  he  had  un- 
successfully tried  to  pull  off — had  appeared  a  bit 
raw  to  certain  people  and  suggested  not  only  that 
the  promoter  was  living  by  his  wits  and  at  other 
people's  expense,  but  that  those  "wits"  were  not 
always  clean  and  on  the  square. 

The  bad  impression  that  he  had  made  was  a  little 
indefinite  as  yet,  but  Atherton  was  far  from  being 


438  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

popular,  and  public  opinion  slowly  but  surely  was 
crystallizing  toward  the  point  of  general  protest — 
which  was  a  serious  matter  in  such  a  community  as 
Deadwood. 

Accompanying  Atherton  was  a  slight,  fair-haired, 
boyish-looking  fellow  of  perhaps  twenty-two  or  three 
years  of  age,  of  quick,  lithe  movement,  a  sharp, 
alert  expression,  and  a  keen  blue  eye  which,  at  a 
glance,  took  in  the  room  and  everybody  within  sight. 

The  new-comers  stood  for  a  moment  surveying  the 
people  in  the  room.  Atherton  recognized  Parker 
and  Horton  and  his  face  darkened.  As  his  gaze 
rested  on  the  former  there  was  a  sinister  gleam  in 
his  eye  and  a  slight  sneer  curled  the  corners  of  his 
hard  mouth.  He  and  his  companion  proceeded  to 
the  bar  and  Sam  came  to  them  to  take  their  orders. 
As  they  passed  the  sheriff  and  his  friend  the  pro- 
moter curtly  nodded  to  them. 

'  *  Good  evening,  Sheriff.    Howdy,  Parker  f ' ' 

The  two  men  civilly  acknowledged  the  greeting, 
and  Horton  beckoned  to  McGinnis  as  if  to  order  a 
drink. 

"Who's  the  feller  with  Atherton,  Mac!"  he  asked, 
quietly. 

"His  name's  Gordon.  He's  some  newspaper  fel- 
ler from  th'  east.  Rolled  in  lasht  noight.  He  ain't 
shtoppin'  here,  but  he's  a  clane-lookin'  bye  at  that, 
sorr.  Hope  that  divil,  Atherton,  don 't  shpoil  him. ' ' 

"Huh!"  exclaimed  the  sheriff;  "no  danger. 
They're  two  of  a  kind,  I'll  bet  a  hat,  an'  bad  eggs 
is  bad  eggs — an'  pretty  safe  from  bein'  spoiled  by 
worse  eggs.  It  won 't  do  any  harm  t '  keep  an  eye  on 
the  new  chap  too,  seein'  as  how  we're  on  the  job  with 
his  friend." 


THE  SHERIFF  CENSOES  THE  PRESS    439 

"A  little  whiskey  and  sugar,  Sam,"  said  Atherton. 
1  'What's  yours,  kid?" 

"I'll  take  a  cigar.  Don't  mind  if  I  cut  out  the 
booze,  do  you,  Atherton  ? ' ' 

"Of  course  not — make  a  ham  out  of  yourself,  if 
you  like. ' ' 

Atherton  turned  to  Parker  and  Horton: 

"Won't  you  join  us,  gentlemen?" 

"Thankee,  no,"  answered  Horton.  "We've  had 
half  a  dozen  night  caps  already,  an'  when  ye  get 
ter  them,  it's  time  ter  call  fer  yer  time  an'  quit." 

Atherton  tossed  off  his  liquor  and  his  friend  lit 
his  cigar.  At  the  older  man's  suggestion  the  two 
men  repaired  to  a  table  near  a  front  window,  open- 
ing on  the  veranda,  and  seated  themselves. 

Horton  and  Parker  bade  McGinnis  good  night  and 
left  the  bar-room.  As  they  passed  out  of  the  door 
the  sheriff  looked  sharply  at  the  promoter  and  his 
friend,  Gordon,  and  noted  that  both  men  were  eyeing 
Parker  very  attentively.  Atherton 's  expression,  he 
thought,  was  plainly  hostile. 

The  two  friends  passed  out  into  the  night  and 
started  towards  home.  When  they  had  proceeded 
a  short  distance  the  sheriff  suddenly  stopped. 

"Lookee  here,  Bob,"  he  said,  "you  don't  need 
no  official  escort,  so  mosey  along  ter  the  shack  by  yer- 
self.  I've  got  a  little  business  ter  see  to.  I'll  be 
along  after  a  while." 

"All  right,  Tom;  I've  got  to  turn  out  at  six  in  the 
morning  and  make  up  for  lost  time,  anyway.  If  I 
don 't  get  a  hustle  on  me,  I  '11  never  finish  that  cabin 
at  the  mine.  See  you  at  wash-up  time,  old  man." 
and  Parker  went  on  his  way. 

Horton  quickly  returned  to  the  hotel,  secured  a 
chair  and  noiselessly  seated  himself  on  the  veranda  at 


440  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

a  little  distance  from  the  open  window  near  which 
Atherton  and  Gordon  were  sitting,  and  within  plain 
hearing  distance  of  the  two. 

As  Parker  and  his  friend,  the  sheriff,  passed 
out,  Gordon  observed  the  malevolent  glances  that 
Atherton  was  directing  towards  the  former,  and  his 
curiosity  was  at  once  aroused. 

"Who 's  your  friend,  Atherton ? ' ' 

"Friend!"  snapped  Atherton,  savagely — "The 
things  I'd  like  to  do  that  damned  upstart! — " 

"Wouldn't  be  safe  around  here,  eh?"  commented 
Gordon,  dryly. 

"You've  hit  it,"  snarled  the  other. 

"Possibly  you  might  do  some  real  funny  things 
to  him — away  from  this  rough-and-tumble  town — 
if  you  got  the  right  steer." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Atherton. 

"Drive  slowly,  please.  I  don't  like  to  be  rushed 
for  copy.  What 's  his  name ! ' ' 

"Parker— Bob  Parker." 

"Where  does  he  hail  from?" 

"Don't  know;  back  east,  somewhere  or  other." 

"Seeing  that  you  admit  that  you  don't  like  him, 
what's  between  you?" 

"Oh,  I  hate  him  on  general  principles,"  growled 
Atherton,  evasively.  "He  puts  on  more  airs  than 
an  Indian  nabob,  and  carries  himself  as  if  he  owned 
the  earth." 

"Come  off,  Atherton,  get  down  to  brass  tacks 
and  let's  have  the  story." 

"Well,  he  butts  into  my  business  in  a  way  that  I 
don't  like,"  replied  Atherton.  "Somebody  has 
queered  several  things  for  me  here,  and  I'm  pretty 
sure  that  he  did  it,  damn  him ! ' ' 

This   acutely  interested  Horton,   who  had   just 


THE  SHERIFF  CENSORS  THE  PRESS    441 

seated  himself  on  the  veranda,  and  he  moved  his 
chair  a  little  closer  to  the  window. 

*  *  Say,  Atherton, ' '  sneered  Gordon,  contemptuous- 
ly, ' '  that  may  not  be  altogether  a  stall,  but  it  doesn  't 
go  far  with  me.  You  haven 't  given  me  the  real  story 
yet.  Cough  up  now,  and  get  it  out  of  your  system — 
it  will  do  you  good.  Come  across ;  I  'm  listening. ' ' 

"Look  here,  Gordon,"  blustered  Atherton,  "if  you 
know  so  damned  much  about  my  business,  why  do 
you  question  me?" 

"Just  to  pad  copy,"  and  Gordon  laughed  sar- 
castically. 

"Now,  my  gallant  blade,"  the  young  fellow  went 
on,  "your  little  Gordy  will  tell  you  the  real  story. 
I'll  boil  it  down  so  it  won't  hurt  so  much." 

The  sheriff  leaned  towards  the  window  and  list- 
ened intently. 

"Here  goes,"  said  the  reporter. 

"Mining  promoter — lady  killer — from  New  York, 
comes  to  Deadwood,  seeking  whom  and  what  he  may 
devour — meets  pretty  little  school-ma'am — goes  af- 
ter her — handsome  young  miner  in  the  way — gent 
from  New  York  furiously  jealous — would  like  to — " 

"What  do  you  know  about  the  pretty  school- 
ma'am?"  demanded  Atherton,  angrily,  half  rising 
from  his  chair.  "How  the  devil  do  you  know  I'm 
stuck  on  her?" 

"How  do  I  know?"  mocked  Gordon,  "why,  man 
that 's  dead  easy !  I  saw  you  talking  to  Miss  Weath- 
erson  at  the  postoffice  this  noon.  I  pumped  that 
wind-bag  who  holds  down  the  postmaster's  job  and 
found  out  about  the  lady.  I'm  not  blind;  she's 
a  raging,  tearing  beauty — and  I  know  you,  Jim 
Atherton.  I  merely  guessed  the  rest  of  the  situation, 


442  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

so  far  as  you  are  concerned,  and  hit  the  nail  plumb 
center." 

The  promoter  sullenly  dropped  back  into  his 
chair.  The  sheriff,  glowering  ominously  toward  the 
window,  removed  his  broad-brimmed  hat  and  busied 
himself  with  wiping  away  the  huge  beads  of  perspir- 
ation that  stood  out  upon  his  sun-tanned  forehead. 

1  'I  saw  the  little  school-ma'am  meet  your  friend, 
Parker,  down  the  road  a  piece  this  afternoon,"  con- 
tinued the  reporter.  "I  was  only  a  little  ways  be- 
hind them  when  they  strolled  towards  the  hotel. 
I  don't  have  to  guess  regarding  either  of  them — I 
know.  She's  dead  gone  on  him,  an'  he's  plumb  cra- 
zy about  her,  and,  like  a  sucker,  he 's  trying  to  keep 
the  lady  from  finding  it  out." 

Horton  grasped  the  arms  of  his  clumsy  chair  and 
nearly  twisted  them  off. 

"Well,  Mr.  Rubber-Neck,"  sneered  Atherton,  de- 
fiantly, "supposing  yours  is  the  real  story,  what 
about  it — and  where  do  you  come  in?" 

' '  Oh,  there 's  nothing  much  to  say  about,  it,  and  I 
don't  know  as  it  is  my  put  in,  anyhow,  but  if  you'll 
take  my  advice,  you'll  cut  it  out,  my  friend." 

"Same  here,  Mr.  Promoter,"  sinisterly  muttered 
Horton. 

"Not  in  a  thousand  years!" 

Atherton  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table  so 
hard  that  Sam,  who  was  busily  wiping  off  an  ad- 
joining table,  jumped  as  if  he  had  been  shot,  knock- 
ing over  several  glasses  and  a  half-filled  bottle  of 
whiskey.  McGinnis  and  his  several  customers 
looked  curiously  toward  the  two  men,  but  seeing  no 
actual  hostilities  in  operation,  resumed  their  respec- 
tive occupations  of  serving  and  being  served  liquor. 


THE  SHERIFF  CENSORS  THE  PRESS    443 

1  'I '11  get  that  girl,"  he  blustered,  "if  I  have  to— 
to — " 

"Wade  through  blood  to  the  bridles,"  suggested 
his  friend,  dryly.  "Well,  I  suspect  that  you  can  be 
accommodated.  I  understand  that  that  fellow— 
What's  his  name?  Oh, — Horton,  the  sheriff,  who 
was  chinning  with  Parker  a  little  while  ago,  is 
clean  gone  on  the  girl." 

Horton 's  impulse  was  to  jump  through  the  win- 
dow on  top  of  the  two  men.  It  was  only  by  an  al- 
most superhuman  effort  that  he  restrained  himself 
and  continued  listening  to  the  conversation. 

"As  she  evidently  doesn't  care  a  hang  about  you," 
Gordon  went  on  irritatingly,  "and  is  merely  polite 
to  you  because  she's  a  born  lady  and  doesn't  know 
yet  that  you're  not  in  her  class,  you  have  about  as 
much  chance  with  her  as  a  brick  of  strawberry  ice- 
cream has  in  hell  in  the  middle  of  August — hottest 
year  the  oldest  inhabitant  ever  knew.  As  to  Par- 
ker, he's  not  safe  to  monkey  with — gambling  on 
form. ' ' 

"I  don't  care  a  damn  for  the  sheriff — and  I'm  not 
afraid  of  Parker,  just  remember  that,"  exclaimed 
Atherton,  hotly. 

"So  ye  just  don't  care  a  damn  fer  me,  an'  ye  ain't 
a  bit  afraid  o'  Bob,  eh?"  the  sheriff  muttered  to  him- 
self. "I'll  remember  that,  if  that  newspaper  feller 
don't." 

"Bravely  said,  my  bold  squire  of  dames,"  said 
Gordon,  mockingly,  "but  let  me  tell  you  something, 
my  friend,  I'll  bet  you  what  you  like,  that  Parker 
can  whip  a  dozen  of  you  at  once  in  the  same  ring, 
without  turning  a  hair,  while  as  for  gun-play! 
Pshaw!  Atherton,  you  make  me  tired.  Go  take  a 
post-graduate  course.  I'm  not  saying  anything  at 


444  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

all  about  the  sheriff.    We  New  Yorkers  would  better 
sing  pretty  low  when  we  bump  up  against  his  kind." 

"Perhaps  I  don't  need  a  post-graduate  course 
when  it  comes  to  shooting;  I  can  go  some  myself." 
boasted  Atherton.    "I  can  shoot  a  turkey's  head  off 
at  fifty  yards — and  do  it  nearly  every  time. ' ' 

"Yes,"  countered  Gordon,  grimly,  "but  every- 
thing on  two  legs  out  here,  totes  a  gun.  It's  differ- 
ent when  the  turkey  has  a  gun." 

"Right  ye  are,  ye  damned  little  cuss!"  chuckled 
Horton,  under  his  breath.  "An'  some  o'  them  tur- 
keys has  got  teeth,  an'  spurs — an'  that's  different 
again." 

"All  right,  gun  or  no  gun,"  retorted  Atherton, 
doggedly,  "I'm  going  to  get  that  girl  just  the  same." 

1  'If  some  of  her  blood-thirsty,  hair-triggered  ador^ 
ers  don't  get  you." 

"Huh!"  thought  the  sheriff,  affectionately  fond- 
ling the  butt  of  his  .44.  "Yer  not  as  big  a  fool  as 
ye  look,  young  feller." 

"What  about  your  wife,  Atherton f"  asked  Gor- 
don, suddenly. 

Horton  gave  a  start  and  became  more  eagerly  at- 
tentive than  ever. 

The  bolt  went  home.  Atherton  sprang  to  his  feet, 
his  face  livid  with  fury. 

"To  hell  with  my  wife !  Hasn't  she  applied  for  a 
divorce  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  retorted  Gordon,  sarcastically,  "on 
grounds  of  desertion,  non-support — and  a  few  other 
things  that  New  York  doesn't  mind  so  much.  That 
will  help  you  a  lot  with  the  little  school-teacher, 
won't  it?  If  that  doesn't  win  her,  the  pathetic  story 
of  those  three  helpless  little  kiddies  that  you  left  be- 


THE  SHERIFF  CENSOES  THE  PRESS    445 

hind  for  that  poor  sick  woman  to  care  for  will  boom 
your  stock  with  the  lady  in  great  shape — not ! ' ' 

1 1  The  damned  scoundrel ! ' '  exclaimed  Horton,  aud- 
ibly, in  spite  of  himself. 

"What's  that  you  said?"  demanded  Gordon. 

"I  didn't  say,"  raged  Atherton,  who  was  so  fur- 
ious that  the  sheriff's  indiscretion  escaped  him,  "but 
I'll  say  it  now!  You  just  cut  all  that  family- 
record  stuff  out  of  your  conversation  when  you're 
talking  with  me,  if  you  know  what's  good  for  you. 
See?" 

Gordon  looked  Atherton 's  burly  frame  over  as 
coolly  as  if  the  promoter  had  been  a  prize  steer,  and 
calmly  lighted  a  fresh  cigar. 

"Say,  Atherton,  you'll  scare  somebody  if  you're 
not  careful,  but  let  me  give  you  a  tip — it  won't  be  a 
New  York  police  reporter  who,  for  two  or  three 
years,  has  spent  most  of  his  nights  rubbering  about 
the  Five  Points  and  Hell's  Half  Acre.  Don't  forget 
that,  please.  I'll  cut  that  stuff  out,  though,  but  Lord ! 
man,  how  I  hate  to  do  it!  My  newspaper  instinct 
rebels  against  the  sacrifice.  The  Herald  would  fire 
its  brilliant  special  correspondent  if  the  old  man 
knew  I'd  killed  such  bully  good  stuff  as  that,  even 
in  a  talk-fest.  Then,  perhaps,  I  couldn't  make  an 
honest  living  any  more — and  even  might  have  to  be- 
come a  promoter.  Who  knows  ? ' ' 

Atherton  sullenly  resumed  his  seat  and  the  sher- 
iff left  his  chair  and  took  a  position  nearer  the  win- 
dow, where  he  could  get  a  full  view  of  the  men  whose 
conversation  he  had  found  so  entertaining — and  dis- 
turbing. 

"Say,  Gordon!"  exclaimed  Atherton,  struck  by  a 
sudden  thought.  "How  the  deuce  do  you  happen 


446  TKUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

to  be  so  interested  in  that  fellow,  Parker?  You 
struck  town  only  last  night." 

"Oh,  I'm  a  newspaper  man,  and  we've  got  Scot- 
land Yard,  the  Pinkerton's  and  the  United  States  Se- 
cret Service  beat  to  a  fare-you-well.  Besides — well, 
Parker  came  from  the  east,  and — " 

Atherton  rose  and  laid  his  hand  oil  Gordon's 
shoulder. 

"By  God,  Dick! — you've  got  something  on  him! 
You  owe  me  one,  boy !  Have  you  forgotten  that  I — " 

'  *  That  you  saved  me  from  the  gutter,  eh  1 "  inter- 
rupted Gordon,  bitterly.  "No,  I  haven't  forgotten 
it — so  generous  of  you  to  mention  it,  Atherton.  I 
remember  it  so  well  that  I'm  going  to  help  you  out, 
even  though  I've  got  to  be  an  infernal  scoundrel  to 
do  it.  Then  we'll  be  quits,  and  maybe  before  you 
get  through,  you'll  give  me,  by  way  of  the  coroner's 
office  here  in  Deadwood,  a  still  better  story  than  the 
one  I'm  going  to  suppress." 

"What  do  you  know  about  that  fellow?"  demand- 
ed Atherton,  excitedly,  leaning  over  the  table  to- 
ward his  companion.  * '  What  have  you  got  on  him  ? ' ' 

Gordon  was  thoroughly  enjoying  the  situation.  He 
produced  a  match,  lighted  his  cigar  afresh  and 
puffed  at  it  very  deliberately. 

"Damn  it,  man,  cut  loose!"  irritably  commanded 
Atherton,  who  was  consumed  with  impatience. 

' '  Sh — h !  Keep— your — shirt  on,  Atherton, ' '  said 
Gordon,  with  exasperating  procrastination,  between 
puffs  at  his  cigar. 

"Hell!  man  go  ahead."  The  promoter  sank  back 
in  his  chair. 

"Well,"  drawled  the  other,  "that  fellow's  name 
isn't  Parker,  any  more  than  mine  is." 

Atherton  grasped  the  end  of  the  table  and  eagerly 


THE  SHERIFF  CENSORS  THE  PRESS    447 

bent  forward  to  catch  every  word.  Horton  listened 
in  breathless  expectation. 

"Calm  yourself,  and  I'll  give  you  the  diagram. 
His  name  is  Parkyn — Robert  Parkyn." 

"Parkyn!"  exclaimed  the  promoter,  "that  name 
sounds  mighty  familiar  to  me." 

"Shouldn't  wonder  if  it  did,  as  you're  a  New 
Yorker  and  read  the  papers.  Do  you  remember  the 

SDung  engineer  who  got  mixed  up  with  a  lot  of 
agoes  at  A  .  .  .on  the  Hudson,  during  the  rail- 
road strike  last  year  and  killed  one  of  them?" 

Atherton  sprang  to  his  feet  in  wild  excitement  and 
rushing  around  the  table  caught  the  reporter  by  the 
arm. 

"What!  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Parker  is  the 
murderer?" 

"There's  no  doubt  of  it.  I'd  know  him  among  a 
thousand.  I  reported  the  trial,  and  wouldn't  be 
likely  to  forget  him.  He  was  sent  up  to  Sing  Sing 
for  twenty  years,  but  a  couple  of  months  ago  he 
escaped,  breaking  the  head  of  that  despicable  brute, 
Bull  Hennessy,  on  the  way.  He  was  winged  by  the 
guards,  but  got  to  the  river,  jumped  in  and  was 
again  fired  at  by  the  guards  and  everybody  supposed 
that  he  was  either  shot  through  the  head  and  killed, 
or  so  badly  hurt  that  he  was  drowned.  He  has  not 
been  heard  from  since  that  day.  A  reward  was 
offered  for  his  recapture  and  it  still  stands,  but  as  he 
is  believed  to  be  dead,  the  case  practically  has 
dropped  out  of  sight." 

"You're  sure  you  are  not  making  a  mistake?" 
asked  Atherton,  hungrily. 

"Mistake!  Why,  man,  I  knew  him  the  minute  I 
set  my  eyes  on  him.  Just  to  prove  that  I  know  what 


448  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

I'm  talking  about,  let  me  show  you  something  I 
have  in  my  trunk. ' ' 

The  reporter  left  the  bar-room  and  passed  out  of 
the  hotel  without  noticing  Horton,  who  was  sitting 
in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  veranda,  returning  in  a 
few  minutes  with  a  large  book  under  his  arm. 

"Here,"  he  said,  opening  the  volume,  "is  a  col- 
lection of  clippings  of  my  stuff.  This  is  my  account 
of  the  trial — and  a  mighty  good  picture  of  your  be- 
loved friend,  Parker ! ' ' 

With  his  finger  on  the  page  indicated,  Gordon 
pushed  the  book  across  the  table  to  his  companion. 

In  a  transport  of  delight  Atherton  glanced  at  the 
headlines. 

' '  By  all  the  gods !  It  is  that  fellow,  sure  as  shoot- 
ing. So,  Mr.  Bob  Parker,"  he  sneered,  joyfully 
gazing  at  the  picture,  "you're  just  an  ordinary 
damned  jail-bird,  eh?" 

' '  Sh — h !    Not  so  loud,  man, ' '  cautioned  his  friend. 

The  newspaper  man  looked  about  him  apprehen- 
sively, and  with  decided  relief  saw  that  everybody 
had  left  the  bar-room  excepting  McGinnis  and  the 
colored  porter,  who  were  busily  engaged  tidying  up 
the  bottles  and  glassware. 

"This  hair-triggered  town  is  not  a  safe  place  for 
calling  names,"  continued  Gordon,  warningly,  "No 
use  in  ordering  your  tuberoses  and  immortelles 
prematurely. ' ' 

"Glad  ter  keep  the  wreaths  nice  an'  fresh  fer  ye, 
gents,"  said  Horton  meaningly,  to  himself. 

"Oh,  but  it's  dead  easy!"  exulted  Atherton.  "Just 
watch  me  put  that  fellow  back  in  his  cage — that's 
all!" 

"Better  not  make  any  fuss  about  it,"  warned 
Gordon.  "Such  things  are  best  pulled  off  on  the 


THE  SHERIFF  CENSORS  THE  PRESS    449 

quiet,  you  know.  A  letter  from  me  to  the  chief  of 
police  in  New  York  will  do  the  business.  The  chief 
will  keep  our  end  of  the  matter  quiet,  and  it  never 
need  be  known  that  we  had  a  finger  in  the  pie. ' ' 

"Fine  business!"  muttered  Horton,  savagely  bit- 
ing his  mustache.  "Nobody '11  ever  know,  eh?  No- 
body but  that  old  cuss,  Tom  Horton — an'  p'raps  he 
don't  count." 

"Yes,"  protested  Atherton,  vindictively,  "but  I 
want  that  big  stiff  to  know  that  I'm  onto  him,  and 
when  he  is  back  in  the  pen,  that  I  did  have  a  hand  in 
caging  him  again. ' ' 

Gordon  looked  his  amazement  and  disgust  as  he 
replied : 

"Say,  Atherton,  are  you  crazy,  or  just  a  plain, 
everyday,  damned  fool  1  If  you  want  to  commit  sui- 
cide, I  suppose  it's  your  business,  and  that  nobody 
has  a  right  to  stop  you,  but  why.  don't  you  take 
morphine?  It's  a  blamed  sight  easier,  more  com- 
fortable and  not  so  mussy  as  the  way  you're  headed. 
Why,  man,  I  wouldn't  dare  to  send  the  story  on  to 
my  paper — not  while  I  still  have  business  in  the  Hills 
— much  less  shoot  my  mouth  off  here  in  Deadwood ! ' ' 

"All  right,  then,  I'll  chance  it  myself,"  snapped 
Atherton  viciously.  "I  know  the  situation  much 
better  than  you  do.  Horton  and  Parker  are  rivals, 
in  both  love  and  politics.  Parker  has  been  here 
only  a  short  time,  but  he 's  made  a  hit,  and  already  is 
talked  of  as  a  probable  candidate  for  the  office  of 
Sheriff,  to  succeed  Tom  Horton.  Horton  naturally 
is  going  to  try  to  succeed  himself.  Now,  human  na- 
ture is  human  nature.  Horton  will  be  damned  glad 
to  get  rid  of  Parker — and  on  two  counts.  I'll  tip 
the  situation  off  to  the  sheriff,  and  you'll  see  Bob 
Parker  get  his,  all  right. ' ' 


450  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"But  the  two  seem  to  be  mighty  good  friends, 
Atherton,"  objected  Gordon. 

* '  Friends  ?  Bunk !  my  boy,  bunk ! ' '  sneered  Ather- 
ton, contemptuously.  "Friendship  doesn't  count  in 
love,  war  or  politics.  It's  a  little  woolly  white  lamb 
on  the  altar  of  ambition.  When  selfish  personal  in- 
terests come  into  the  door,  friendship  hides  itself 
in  the  coal  cellar  and  gets  a  black  smooch  on  its 
lovely  nose.  When  jealousy  and  personal  ambition 
both  enter  the  temple,  friendship  flies  up  the  chim- 
ney and  disappears  in  smoke.  Friendship  ?  Humph ! 
The  real  thing  is  so  rare  that  history  has  immortal- 
ized the  little  bunch  of  suckers  that  indulged  in  it. 
David  and  Jonathan,  Damon  and  Pythias  and — 
well,  you  could  count  'em  on  three  or  four  fingers. 
Friendship  ?  Bah !  Just  you  watch  that  fellow  Hor- 
ton  fall  for  the  story. " 

Horton  could  contain  himself  no  longer.  He 
stepped  into  full  view  in  the  window  and  leaning 
over  the  sill  half-way  into  the  room,  glared  furiously 
at  the  two  plotters,  who  rose  and  stood  looking  at 
him  in  open-mouthed  astonishment  and  consterna- 
tion. 

He  continued  indignantly  to  transfix  with  his  eye 
the  objects  of  his  wrath  for  a  full  half -minute  with- 
out speaking. 

"Is — that — sol"  he  sneered.  "Just  watch  him 
fall,  gents.  It'll  make  ye  laugh — jest  like  the  cat 
that  licked  the  mustard  plaster.  You're  a  precious 
pair  o'  beauties,  ain't  ye?  A  decent  feller  gets  in 
yer  way,  Atherton,  an'  instead  o'  fightin'  it  out 
with  him  like  a  man,  you  try  ter  get  him  by  playin' 
him  dirt.  That's  without  sayin'  nothin'  about  the 
cheek  of  a  damned  hound  like  you,  in  even  lookin' 
at  a  decent  woman.  Look  here,  you  fellers,  d'ye 


THE  SHERIFF  CENSORS  THE  PRESS    451 

really  think  I'd  fall  fer  any  o'  your  dirty  work? 
Come  now,  honest  Injun,  do  ye  ? " 

Atherton  was  first  to  recover  his  assurance,  and 
impudently  returned  the  sheriff's  gaze. 

"Dirty  work,  eh?  he  bluffed;  "well,  my  friend, 
we'll  let  it  go  at  that,  but  since  you've  listened  to 
our  private  conversation  and  understand  the  situ- 
ation, I  demand  that  you  do  your  duty." 

"Duty,  eh?"  retorted  Horton,  significantly:  "I'll 
do  my  duty  all  right — I  always  do.  That's  why  I 
keep  my  ears  open  when  miserable  rats  like  you  en- 
gage in  conspiracies.  Let  me  tell  you  something 
Mr.  Jim  Atherton:  People  in  this  town  hain't  got 
much  patience  with  fellers  who  digs  up  the  eastern 
records  of  our  citizens,  an '  the  kind  o '  record  you  're 
a-goin'  t'  fasten  on  Bob  Parker — if  I  let  ye,  which 
I'll  be  damned  if  I  do — is  a  passport  ter  good  soci- 
ety in  the  Black  Hills.  We're  short  on  wicked  pasts 
— an'  long  on  hard  hittin'  an'  quick  shootin'.  D'ye 
git  that?" 

"That's  all  well  enough,"  argued  Atherton,  "but 
you — " 

' '  To  hell  with  yer  '  buts ' ! "  blazed  Horton.  "  I  'm 
pretty  near  out  o'  wind — I  was  out  o'  patience  with 
you  two  varmints  when  I  begun  talkin' — so  I'm  goin' 
ter  cut  this  short.  If  you  fellers  wanter  enjoy 
health,  prosperity  an'  long  life  in  this  neck  o'  the 
woods,  don't  ye  open  yer  yap,  either  one  o'  ye,  about 
Bob  Parker.  D'ye  hear?" 

"But  you  are  sworn  to  uphold  the  law,  sir,"  ex- 
postulated Atherton. 

"There  ye  go,  buttin'  again!  Ye '11  keep  on  with 
yer  fool  'buts'  till  ye  hurt  that  ugly  head  o'  yourn, 
Mister,"  sneered  Horton.  "0'  course,  I'm  sworn 
to  uphold  the  law,  but  I  ain't  sworn  to  uphold  no 


452  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

low-lived  sneaks  like  you  fellers.  Besides,  I'm  the 
law  in  this  partic'lar  case — an'  I'm  Bob  Parker's 
friend,  an'  don't  you  forgit  it.  If  ye  double-cross 
him,  I'll  give  ye  another  one  o'  them  history  cases 
ter  count  on  yer  dirty  fingers." 

1 1  What ! ' '  Atherton  indignantly  exclaimed.  * '  You 
would  dare  to — " 

' '  Dare  f ' '  Horton  broke  in, ' '  Dare  t  Hell  no !  There 
wouldn't  be  any  darin'  to  it.  There's  more'n  one 
way  o '  gittin '  yer  man  an '  clearin '  the  law — an '  I  'm 
not  the  only  one  that  knows  the  game.  There's  a 
dozen  men  right  here  in  Deadwood,  that's  pretty 
damned  good  at  it — an'  they're  all  good  friends  o' 
Bob's,  don't  forget  that.  Any  one  of  'em  would 
be  tickled  ter  death  ter  pick  a  row  with  you.  Ye 
know  the  rest.  Ye  ain't  none  too  pop'lar  with  the 
people  o'  this  town,  anyhow,  an'  you'd  be  easy 
meat." 

"Mebbe  you're  just  a  case  of  a  nice  young  man 
that's  fell  inter  bad  cpmp'ny,"  he  continued,  turn- 
ing to  Gordon  and  critically  inspecting  him;  "but 
jest  so  as  not  ter  show  any  partiality,  you're  in  on 
my  remarks,  Mr.  Pencil-Pusher.  What  I  said  jest 
now  goes  double.  Savvy?" 

Gordon  apparently  was  too  much  embarrassed 
to  speak.  He  stood  gazing  dumbly  at  the  sheriff. 

"Got  the  buck  fever,  eh?"  sneered  Horton,  with- 
eringly.  ' '  That 's  good — it  may  keep  ye  from  makin ' 
any  fool  breaks  like  yer  side  partner  here's  been 
doin.  By  the  way,  young  feller,  I  wonder  if  that 
stuff  ye  said  about  Bob  Parker  ain't  a  pack  o' 
damned  lies,  anyhow.  Let  me  see  that  book. ' ' 

' '  The  book  is  my  property,  sir, ' '  expostulated  the 
suddenly  aroused  Gordon. 


THE  SHERIFF  CENSOES  THE  PEESS    453 

1  'Give — me — that — book!"  thundered  the  sheriff, 
extending  his  hand. 

Completely  cowed,  the  reporter  went  to  the  win- 
dow and  surrendered  the  volume  of  clippings.  Hor- 
ton  quickly  glanced  through  it,  critically  reviewing 
the  page  that  Gordon  had  exhibited  to  Atherton. 

*| Well,  what  d'ye  think  o'  that?"  he  ejaculated, 
satirically.  "That  picture  don't  look  no  more  like 
Bob  Parker  than  it  does  like  me !  Good  joke  on  Bob 
— ha,  ha!  How  I  will  josh  him  about  that  carica- 
toor.  The  feller  that  drew  that  ought  ter  be  arrested 
fer  assault  an'  battery,  an'  mayhem.  Why,  it  spoils 
yer  pretty  book,  sonny. ' ' 

He  calmly  tore  out  the  offending  leaf. 

"Here!  what  are  you  doing?"  exclaimed  the  now 
thoroughly  exasperated  Gordon. 

"Oh,"  chuckled  Horton,  "I'm  editin'  copy — an' 
censorin'  the  press,  that's  all.  Stuff  like  this  is  im- 
moral— an'  very  dangerous." 

He  crumpled  up  the  leaf,  stuffed  it  in  his  pocket 
and  proffered  the  book  to  its  owner. 

"Here,  young  feller,  ye  can  have  yer  book  now. 
It's  the  only  genuine  expurgated  edition  of  the  Noo 
York  Herald." 

The  reporter  angrily  snatched  the  book  from  the 
sheriff's  hand  and  without  a  word  sullenly  returned 
to  his  seat  at  the  table. 

"Such  bad  bringin'  up!"  commented  Horton,  de- 
risively. "Now  you  two  rats  can  hunt  yer  holes. 
Ta,  ta,  gents!" 

He  left  the  veranda  and  started  towards  home, 
when  an  afterthought  struck  him  and  he  returned 
to  the  window. 

"I  jest  come  back  ter  remark,  that  if  I  ever  hear 
o'  either  o'  you  fellers  speakin'  that  little  school- 


454  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

ma'am's  name  agin,  loud  enough  fer  anybody  ter 
hear  it,  I'll  cut  off  a  real  nice-lookin'  pair  o'  ears 
an'  put  'em  in  my  pocket.  D'ye  catch  on?" 

His  duty  done  and  his  conscience  thus  relieved,  the 
honest  fellow  went  towards  home,  suggestively 
whistling  the  then  popular  air,  * '  See  that  my  grave 's 
kept  green." 

"It'll  be  my  play  next,  Mr.  Tom  Horton!"  hissed 
the  infuriated  Atherton,  rising  to  his  feet  and  gazing 
threateningly  after  the  sheriff. 

"Pleasant  party,  that,"  commented  the  reporter. 

Atherton  did  not  answer  and  Gordon  laughed  vo- 
ciferously, striking  the  table  a  sharp  rap  with  his 
knuckles. 

"He  did  hand  it  to  us  for  fair,  didn't  he?  Say, 
Atherton,  on  the  level,  we  got  just  what  was  coming 
to  us,  didn't  we?  That  fellow  is  right,  and  you 
know  it.  We  are  a  couple  of  rats — and  you're  in 
the  king  row.  Come,  let 's  have  a  drink ;  I  'm  all  in, 
and  you  look  like  hell  sued  for  murder  and  likely  to 
lose  the  case." 

Atherton  obviously  was  furious  at  Gordon's  sud- 
den change  of  front,  but  followed  him  to  the  bar. 

"So,  Horton  is  right,  is  he,  you  damned  turn- 
coat?" sneered  the  promoter  to  himself,  en  route. 
"He's  right  in  just  one  thing — there  is  more  than 
one  way  of  getting  your  man  and  clearing  the  law. 
When  a  man  picks  a  quarrel  with  an  escaped  murd- 
erer who  has  a  price  on  his  head  and  kills  him, 
there's  no  come-back.  Thanks  for  the  hunch,  Tom 
Horton." 

As  he  set  out  the  drinks,  McGinnis,  who  had 
heard  the  sheriff's  parting  shot,  glanced  at  his  huge 
watch,  and  loudly  remarked : 

"Begorra!    Oi  thought  it  musht  be  pretty  near 


THE  SHERIFF  CENSORS  THE  PRESS    455 

toime  t '  knock  off,  whin  Oi  saw  Misther  Horton  lave 
the  windy.  He  knows  more  about  shuttin'  up  toime 
than  inny  wan  in  this  town.  When  he  says  '  shut  up ', 
there's  no  use  argyfyin'  wid  him.  An'  if  he  says  ter 
kape  shut  up,  ye  'd  betther  listen. ' ' 

McGinnis  looked  meaningly  at  his  two  guests  who, 
knowing  that  there  were  no  closing  laws  in  Dead- 
wood,  readily  grasped  the  significance  of  the  astute 
Irishman's  remarks. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

AT   THE    LITTLE   BED    SCHOOL    HOUSE 

The  Constitution  follows  the  American  flag — 
sometimes.  The  little  red  school-house  follows  it 
always. 

In  these  degenerate  days,  cold-hearted,  unsenti- 
mental vandals  have  advocated  painting  the  little 
school-house  in  more  subdued  colors.  They  even 
have  accomplished  their  diabolic  purpose  here  and 
there  over  this  fair  land  of  ours,  but  they  never 
can  quite  conceal  the  historic  fact  that  the  corner- 
stone of  our  national  progress  has  been  painted  red, 
so  far  back  in  the  dim  and  misty  past  that  the  mem- 
ory of  man  dare  not  tackle  the  problem  of  when  and 
where  it  was  anything  but  red. 

Great  men  and  famous  women,  mighty  thoughts, 
daring  deeds,  human  comedies  and  tragedies,  fas- 
cinating romances,  social  upheavals,  national  dramas 
— things  of  human  interest  by  the  hundred,  have 
been  cradled  in  the  little  red  school-house.  Espec- 
ially has  it  been  the  cradle  of  sweet  romance. 

Who  that  ever  attended  the  country  school,  has 
forgotten  that  first  boyhood's  sweetheart  in  pina- 
fores with  yellow  hair  in  braids  whose  books  he 
carried  o'  mornings?  And  there  are  tender  mem- 
ories of  another  kind :  Who  does  not  remember  the 
sting  of  hickory,  on  rear  or  flank,  and  the  dull  aches 
and  smarting  palms  inflicted  by  the  merciless  ferule  I 


AT  THE  EED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          457 

The  school-house  at  Deadwood  was  an  especially 
diminutive  and  more  than  usually  glaring  specimen 
of  the  genus.  It  was  a  crude  one-story  structure 
with  an  abundance  of  small,  square-paned,  old-fash- 
ioned windows,  destitute  of  blinds,  that  peered  at 
one  like  so  many  curious,  inquiring  eyes. 

The  building  stood  at  a  fork  of  the  main  road, 
the  lesser  "tine"  of  which  wound  most  picturesque- 
ly to  the  rear  of  the  school-house,  and  disappeared 
among  the  stern  and  rugged  hills  that  flanked  the 
highway  and  formed  the  background  of  the  school 
site.  These  hills  were  sparsely  covered  with  verdure 
— mainly  scrub-oaks  and  scraggly  pines. 

At  one  corner  and  in  front  of  the  school-house 
was  a  majestic,  time-worn,  weather-beaten  oak,  at 
the  foot  of  which  lay  a  huge  lichen-covered  boulder, 
framed  by  a  few  shrubs  of  various  kinds. 

At  the  base  of  the  boulder,  emerging  from  be- 
neath it,  a  spring  of  crystal  clearness  sparkled  and 
bubbled,  the  overflow  tinkling  musically  as  it  ran 
athwart  the  road  beneath  a  little  rustic  bridge  and 
tumbled  on  its  frolicsome  way  over  the  rocks  and 
down  the  hill  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  highway. 
Secured  to  the  tree  by  a  long  chain,  was  a  large  rusty 
tin  cup,  the  use  of  which  always  is  dangerous  in  all 
communities — and  positively  criminal  in  some. 

In  front  of  the  building,  which  stood  a  little  re- 
moved from  the  road,  was  what  once  was  a  plot  of 
grass.  This  had  been  worn  bare  by  erosion  with 
many  childish  feet. 

Surrounding  the  school-house  was  a  sparse  grove 
of  small  trees,  immediately  behind  and  above  which 
towered  a  frowning  mass  of  rock  of  variegated 
colors,  that  looked  as  if  it  would  require  but  little 


458  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

force  to  dislodge  it  and  send  it  crashing  upon  the 
tiny  devoted  structure  beneath. 

Time  was  when  a  description  of  the  fauna  of  the 
little  grove  surrounding  the  Deadwood  school-house 
would  have  been  like  the  Irishman's  immortal  des- 
cription of  the  snakes  in  Ireland — there  was  none. 
School  boys  and  fauna  do  not  mix — at  least  to  the 
advantage  of  the  fauna — and  prior  to  Miss  Weather- 
son's  advent,  every  furred  and  feathered  creature 
of  the  country  round  about  gave  the  school-house, 
and  even  its  remote  environments,  a  wide  berth. 

The  new  school  mistress  had  a  fondness  for  wild 
creatures,  and  as  she  soon  gained  the  respect  and 
affection  of  her  pupils,  she  finally — albeit  with  some 
difficulty,  it  must  be  admitted — succeeded  in  curbing 
the  natural  propensity  of  the  boys  of  the  school  to 
destroy  everything  living  that  was  not  human,  which 
came  within  stone  or  club-shot. 

Soon  after  the  boys  had  been  pledged  to  innocuous 
observation,  vain  longings  and  itching  fingers,  as 
they  viewed  the  birds  and  squirrels  that  had  been 
so  long  exiled  from  the  vicinity,  the  little  creatures 
returned,  and  by  their  sweet  songs  and  playful  an- 
tics added  much  to  the  attractiveness  of  the  school 
surroundings. 

School  was  over  for  the  day  and  the  romping, 
happy  younger  children  had  wended  their  frolicsome 
way  homeward,  leaving  the  older  ones  to  follow 
more  sedately  and  leisurely. 

Ellen  McGinnis  remained  after  the  other  scholars 
had  departed,  waiting  for  the  teacher  to  finish  her 
duties,  so  that  the  two  might  go  home  together. 

As  the  last  of  her  schoolfellows  disappeared  down 
the  road,  the  young  girl  appeared  at  the  door  of 


AT  THE  BED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          459 

the  school-house,  bonneted  and  swinging  a  bundle  of 
books  by  the  strap.  She  stood  for  a  moment  on  the 
threshold,  where  she  soon  was  joined  by  the  teacher. 

"It  is  very  good  of  you  to  wait  for  me  every  day 
as  you  do,  Ellen,  dear,"  said  Miss  Weatherson, 
affectionately  putting  her  arm  around  her  favorite 
pupil's  waist. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,  Miss  Weatherson.  I  love  to 
be  with  you  after  all  the  others  have  gone.  It  seems 
then,  somehow,  as  if  we  were — you  know — " 

"Chums,  dear?"  smiled  the  teacher,  understand- 
ingly. 

"Yes  'm.  You  see,  I  never  had  any  girl  chums, 
and  there  was  only  mother  to  talk  to  when  I  wanted 
to  talk  to  women  folks." 

The  two  slowly  walked  to  the  boulder  in  front  of 
the  school-house,  and  Ellen,  removing  her  sunbon- 
net  and  throwing  it  upon  the  ground  nearby,  seated 
herself  upon  the  mossy  rock. 

"It's  awfully  nice  to  wait  out  here  for  you,"  she 
said  happily,  swinging  her  legs  by  way  of  empha- 
sis. It's  not  a  bit  lonesome.  Why,  the  other  day 
when  I  was  waiting  for  you,  a  big,  brown  fox-squir- 
rel with  a  great  bushy  tail  came  out  on  a  branch 
of  that  big  tree  over  yonder,  and  talked  to  me  the 
longest  time!  And  there's  a  tiny  little  chipmunk, 
and  a  red-headed  woodpecker,  and  a  big  yellow-ham- 
mer living  up  there  somewhere,  and  it's  such  fun  to 
sit  out  here  and  hear  them  calling  each  other  names — 
just  like  bad  children." 

"I'm  afraid,  dear,"  the  teacher  gently  remarked, 
"that  you'll  miss  the  squirrels  and  the  birds,  and 
those  sombre  old  hills,  when  you  have  gone  east 
to  that  wonderful  school." 

"Somehow,  teacher,"  rejoined  the  girl,  soberly, 


460  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"the  idea  of  being  rich  doesn't  seem  so  grand  as 
it  did  at  first.  The  night  Mr.  Parker  told  us  about 
the  mine,  I  was  so  happy  I  couldn't  sleep,  but  the 
next  morning,  and  all  day  long,  ever  since — well, 
it  gives  me  the  queerest  feeling  right  here,  in  the 
pit  of  my  stomach,  every  time  I  think  about  going 
away  from  Deadwood  and  you,  and  the  school  and 
—and—" 

"And  some  other  things  that  interest  young  girls. 
For  instance — "  and  Miss  Weatherson  glanced  amus- 
edly down  the  road. 

Ellen  followed  the  teacher's  gaze  and  saw  Smith- 
ers,  who  was  just  stepping  into  view  from  behind 
the  trees  at  a  turn  of  the  road  a  short  distance  away. 
He  saw  the  ladies,  hesitated,  and  finally  stopped, 
partially  concealed  by  a  tree,  to  adjust  his  monocle. 

"I  was  just  thinking  of  that  very  person,"  pouted 
the  girl,  spiritedly,  "but  I'm  very  angry  with  him. 
Why,  I  haven't  even  spoken  to  him  for  two  whole 
weeks!" 

Miss  Weatherson  laughed  teasingly  as  she  re- 
plied : 

"Well,  dear,  if  that  is  the  case,  I'll  go  back  to  my 
work  and  give  you  a  chance  to  discipline  him.  Be- 
ing a  male  person,  he  probably  deserves  it,  on  gener- 
al principles. ' ' 

She  smilingly  re-entered  the  school-house  and 
closed  the  door  behind  her,  just  as  Smithers,  having 
painstakingly  arranged  his  eye-glass,  stepped  into 
full  view  and  with  a  doubtful  air,  as  if  he  were  not 
quite  sure  of  a  cordial  reception,  approached  the 
young  girl. 

Ellen  ostentatiously  took  a  book  from  her  bundle 
&nd  pretended  to  be  reading  it,  rather  inconsistently 
holding  it  upside  down. 


AT  THE  EED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          461 

"Ah!  There  you  are,  Miss  Ellen!"  he  ventured, 
cautiously. 

She  tossed  her  head  and  turned  her  face  away 
from  him. 

"Oh,  I  say  now,  really,  I — " 

The  Irish  lassie  merely  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
readjusted  herself  on  the  boulder  and  continued  with 
her  obvious  pretense  of  reading. 

"By  Jove!"  ejaculated  the  Englishman,  "I  begin 
to  think  I'm  intrudin'  a  bit,  don'tcher  know — I 
really  do." 

"What  was  that  funny  noise,  I  wonder?"  said 
Ellen,  looking  about  her  as  if  searching  for  some- 
thing. 

Smithers  carefully,  adjusted  his  monocle : 

"My  word!  But  that's  a  bally  joke.  It  really  is, 
you  know. ' ' 

"My  goodness!"  she  exclaimed,  as  if  noticing 
him  for  the  first  time,  "  it 's  you,  is  it  I " 

"You  surely  haven't  forgotten  me  voice,  have 
you?  Keally,  now." 

"No,"  she  retorted  spunkily,  "but  I've  been  trying 
to — ever  since  that  evening  two  weeks  ago  when  you 
were  intoxicated.  You've  a  lot  of  cheek  to  speak  to 
me  again,  sir.  I  don't  want  anything  more  to  do 
with  you,  so  there  now ! ' ' 

"But  I  say,  now  really,"  he  said  penitently,  "you 
musn't  be  too  hard  on  a  poor  chap.  It  wasn't  quite 
all  my  fault,  you  know.  I  never  was  bowled  over 
before  in  all  me  life.  It  was  the  bloomin'  rye,  you 
know.  I  called  for  Bass,  an'  the  blawsted  bar-keeper 
handed  me  out  nothin'  but  spirits,  don'tcher  know, 
an'  I  had  to  keep  me  end  up." 

"Nobody  else  was  intoxicated,"  she  scornfully 


462  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

asserted;  "I  have  my  opinion  of  a  tenderfoot  that 
will  let  a  lot  of  rough-neck  miners  get  him  drunk ! ' ' 

"Yes,  but  those  bloomin'  fellahs  have  copper 
linin's,  an'  I'm  not  acclimated,  you  know.  When 
I  get  on  me  sea  legs,  I'll — " 

"You  will,  will  you?"  flashed  Ellen,  indignantly; 
"well,  until  you  do  get  your  sea  legs,  and  some 
sense  along  with  them,  you'll  either  keep  out  of  the 
way  of  those  fellows  or  out  of  mine. ' ' 

"But,  I  say,"  he  pleaded  humbly;  "if  I  promise 
not  to  get  bowled  over  again,  will  you  forgive  me — 
what?" 

* '  Sure  I  will ! ' '  laughed  the  girl.  Come  here,  you 
silly, ' '  and  the  little  witch  made  room  for  him  on  the 
boulder. 

Smithers  readjusted  his  monocle  and  with  great 
dignity  seated  himself  beside  her. 

"Thanks,  awfully,  Miss  Ellen." 

"Well,  anyhow,"  she  said  cheerily,  kicking  her 
small  feet  and  plump  legs  against  the  boulder,  "the 
boys  can't  call  you  a  tenderfoot  any  more." 

"I  should  think  not,  really,"  he  answered,  proudly. 
"I've  been  jolly  well  baptized  a  citizen  of  Dead  wood 
— My  word  !  I  really  have,  don  'tcher  know. ' ' 

"All  right,  sir,"  she  laughed,  "but  once  is  enough. 
Too  many  baptisms  are  bad  for  one." 

"An'  do  you  really  care  what  happens  to  me,  Miss 
Ellen?"  he  asked,  snuggling  up  to  the  young  girl  and 
trying  to  take  her  hand,  in  awkwardly  sentimental 
fashion. 

With  a  fine  display  of  offended  dignity,  she  ab- 
ruptly withdrew  her  hand  and  moved  to  the  farther 
side  of  the  boulder. 

"There  you  go  again !  Haven't  I  told  you  a  dozen 
times  that  I'm  too  young  to  be  made  love  to?" 


AT  THE  EED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          463 

Smithers  curiously  gazed  at  her  through  his  mon- 
ocle. 

"My  word!  Have  you  now,  really?  But  would 
you  mind  growin '  up  a  bit ! " 

"See  here,  Mr.  Smithers,"  she  chaffed,  mischiev- 
ously, "I'm  going  away  to  school  in  the  east.  While 
I'm  gone — and  growing  up — you  can  talk  it  over 
with  father  and,"  she  giggled,  "with  mother." 

"Oh,  I  say  now,  really!  That's  a  bit  stiff,  you 
know.  Cawn't  I  come  to  some  understandin'  with 
your  father?  I  never  could  talk  to  married  women. 
They  don't  seem  to  take  to  me  at  all  kindly,  don'tcher 
know. ' ' 

She  pointed  a  scornful  finger  at  him. 

* '  Fraidy  cat !    Fraidy  cat ! 

"But  I'm  not  afraid,  only—" 

"Only  you  are — 'rawther',"  she  mocked. 

"Well,  suppose  I  do  win  your  mother  over — how 
about  you?" 

"If  you  can  win  mother  over,"  she  laughed  merri- 
ly, "why — well,  you  can  make  love  to  me  all  you 
want  to  when  I  come  back — and  I'll  take  care  of 
Dad." 

"It's  a  bargain,  Miss  Ellen!  an'  I'm  goin'  to  win. 
Any  man  that 's  been  baptized  a  citizen  o '  Deadwood, 
can  bally  well  face  anything — what  ? ' ' 

"Perhaps,"  she  gravely  replied,  "but  before  you 
face  Ma,  you'd  better  shed  your  boiled  shirt  and 
get  to  work  looking  for  a  strike.  And  you  might 
lose  that  piece  of  window  glass  from  your  eye,  and 
fix  up  your  accent  a  little.  They  don't  make  a  hit 
with  Ma — she's  Irish,  you  know." 

"Is  she,  really?  How  extraor'nary!  But,  I  say, 
I've  been  thinkin'  it  over  a  bit  already,  an'  I  think 


464  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

that  perhaps  you're  right.  Here  goes  me  bloomin' 
monocle ! ' ' 

He  removed  the  glass  from  his  eye,  unfastened 
the  narrow  ribbon  that  secured  it  to  the  lapel  of  his 
coat,  and  was  about  to  dash  the  bit  of  glass  against 
the  boulder,  when  Ellen  stayed  his  hand  and  ap- 
propriated it. 

"That's  my  property,  if  you  please.  I  want  to 
keep  it  to  remind  you  of  how  you  used  to  look  before 
you  became  civilized,"  and  she  suspended  the  mon- 
ocle about  her  own  neck. 

"There,"  she  gibed,  archly,  "little  white  squaw 
got  heap  scalp.  And  now  that  you  begin  to  look  hu- 
man, what  else  are  you  going  to  do  to  make  good! 
How  about  the  'strike'?" 

"I  was  about  to  tell  you,  Miss  Ellen,  that  I've 
been  talkin'  a  bit  with  Mr.  Parker,  an'  by  Jove! 
we're  goin'  to—" 

' '  Oh ! ' '  exclaimed  the  girl,  standing  down  from  the 
boulder.  "Here  he  is  now!  Howdy,  Mr.  Parker?" 

"Hello  there,  little  girl!  Hello,  Smithers!  and 
what  are  you  up  to  now — playing  Mary's  little 
lamb?" 

"I  don't  quite  understand  you,  Mr.  Parker,"  and 
the  Englishman  bewilderedly  felt  for  his  absent  mon- 
ocle. 

"Why,"  laughed  Parker,  winking  at  Ellen,  who 
was  trying  to  preserve  her  gravity,  "the  lamb  used 
to  stick  around  till  Mary  came  out  of  school." 

"Did  he,  really?  That  was  rawther  clever  of  him. 
But  I  never  was  keen  on  mutton,  don'tcher  know." 

"Glad  to  hear  you're  not  a  cannibal,  Smithers," 
remarked  Parker,  waggishly.  "Has  Miss  Weather- 
son  gone  home,  Ellen?" 

"No,  sir — I'm  waiting  for  her." 


AT  THE  EED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          465 

11  Ellen,  my  child,"  he  said,  with  mock  gravity, 
"I'm  astonished  and  grieved  at  the  way  yon  mix 
your  tenses!  I  really  must  speak  to  your  teacher 
about  it.  What  you  meant  to  say  was,  that  you  were 
waiting  for  her.  Am  I  correct  I ' ' 

"No,  sir,"  she  giggled.  "I  was  waiting  for  her. 
Come,  Mr.  Smithers ;  you  may  take  me  for  a  walk. ' ' 

She  grasped  the  the  Englishman  by  the  hand  and 
proceeded  to  drag  him  away  down  the  road  towards 
town. 

"But,  I  say,"  sputtered  Smithers,  "I  want  to 
speak  to  Mr.  Parker  about — " 

"That  will  keep,  Smithers,"  said  Parker.  "Quit 
your  bleating  and  trot  along  with  Mary.  I  '11  see  you 
about  the  claim  tomorrow." 

"Thanks,  awfully,  old  chap!" 

As  she  led  away  her  captive,  Ellen  turned  and 
laughed.  "Good  luck,  Mr.  Parker,"  she  called, 
throwing  him  a  kiss. 

"You  angel!"  he  cried,  returning  the  aerial  sal- 
utation. 

"Luck!"  he  exclaimed,  bitterly.  "Luck!  I  feel 
as  if  I  was  going  to  my  own  funeral — as  I  am,  very 
nearly.  Luck !  Humph !  I  wouldn  't  know  it  if  I  met 
it  in  the  street,  tagged  and  ready  for  delivery.  I'm 
like  the  fellow  who  had  nothing  but  a  two-tined  fork 
when  it  was  raining  soup." 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  approaching  the 
school-house,  rapped  on  the  door  and  stood  expec- 
tant. 

The  school-teacher  appeared  at  the  door  and  cor- 
dially welcomed  him. 

"You  see,  Miss  Weatherspn,"  he  said,  merrily, 
"I'm  getting  the  school  habit." 

"You're  not  a  very  dutiful  scholar  at  that,  sir," 


466  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

she  chided,  raising  a  playfully  admonishing  finger. 
"You  haven't  called  forme  for  ages.  Don't  you  know 
that  your  friend,  Mr.  Horton,  hasn  't  nearly  so  many 
black  marks  as  I  have  put  down  opposite  your  name  I 
He  has  been  at  school  several  times  since  your  last 
attendance." 

"I  will  admit  that  Tom  is  a  much  more  faithful 
cavalier  than  I,  Miss  Weatherson,"  he  gravely  re- 
plied. 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  let  him  surpass  you 
in  gallantry,  sir,"  she  said,  jocosely. 

"I  suppose  I  must  expect  a  note  to  my  parents 
if  I  don't  'do  better,"  he  laughed. 

"The  hickory,  sir." 

"So  bad  as  that?  Come,  I  must  get  away  from 
here!  Are  you  ready  to  go  home!" 

"Not  quite,  I  have  some  examination  papers  to 
correct  before  I  go. ' ' 

"Bother  the  papers !  Why  not  attend  to  them  af- 
ter dinner?" 

"Ah!  but  I  start  a  preparatory  school  this  even- 
ing," she  rejoined,  with  a  smile.  "I  am  going  to 
help  Ellen  to  get  ready  for  that  wonderful  school 
in  the  east." 

"Then  she  really  is  going?" 

"She  surely  is." 

"Well,  the  McGinnises  certainly  can  'go  some' 
when  they  get  started. ' ' 

"You  mean  Mrs.  McGinnis  can  'go  some',"  she 
laughed. 

"I  accept  the  amendment,"  he  smilingly  returned, 
bowing  low.  "She  is  a  woman  of  action,  all  right 
— and,  by  the  way,  it  didn't  take  her  long  to  close 
the  deal  when  I  got  rid  of  Atherton  and  produced 
a  real  buyer  for  the  mine.  Possibly  she  might  have 


AT  THE  BED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          467 

done  better  had  she  waited,  but  she  is  something  of 
a  sure-thing  player,  herself,  once  she  gets  going. 

1  'But  seriously,  Miss  Weatherson,"  he  continued, 
looking  at  the  sky,  "why  not  put  your  work  aside; 
at  least  for  a  little  while?  It  is  early  yet  and  you 
are  not  so  very  far  from  home.  Suppose  we  sit  on 
that  picturesque  boulder  and  chat — and  enjoy  a  lit- 
tle of  the  wonderful  sunset  that  is  almost  due." 

"Alas! — those  unfortunate  examination  papers!" 
she  sighed,  smilingly. 

"It  is  something  to  have  cut  out  even  those  papers 
for  a  short  time,"  he  said,  following  her  to  a  seat 
on  the  boulder. 

They  had  chatted  about  things  commonplace  for 
some  time  when  he  asked,  abruptly : 

"Miss  Weatherson,  what  could  have  impelled  a 
woman  like  you  to  come  to  this  rough  pioneer  town?" 

"Briefly — necessity,"  she  quietly  rejoined.  "I 
am  an  only  child.  My  mother  died  when  I  was  but 
ten  years  of  age.  My  father  was  a  wealthy  man. 
He  retired  from  business  some  years  ago,  but  he 
still  was  ambitious.  His  mind  still  was  active  and 
his  spirit  grew  restless.  He  was  drawn  into  specu- 
lation, lost  everything  he  had  and  died — broken- 
hearted. I  had  to  do  something.  I  was  getting  on 
in  a  literary  way  and  could  have  made  a  success  of 
it  in  time,  but — well,  necessity  will  not  wait  on 
commercial  literary  appreciation,  and  besides,  Itha- 
ca was  not  a  pleasant  place  in  which  to  live,  after 
our  money  took  wings.  Our  friends — " 

"Lost  their  eyesight,  eh?"  he  interjected,  cyni- 
cally. 

"Well,"  she  laughed,  "possibly  their  eyesight 
was  all  right,  but  father  and  I  had  shrunk  so  that 
they  couldn't  see  us." 


468  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"But  why  did  you  select  the  Black  Hills,  of  all 
places,  for  your  struggle  with  the  world?" 

"Because  I  wanted  to  try  the  west.  Deadwood  is 
the  west,  and  typifies  the  first  heart-beats  of  a  na- 
tion. I  have  grown  to  love  the  western  country, 
because  its  people  are — well,  just  human,  that's  all. 
The  west  is  America.  It  is  the  butterfly.  The  east 
is  the  discarded  cocoon." 

"And  you  really  like  the  west — its  plain  people 
and  its  rough  ways?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  earnestly,  "I  adore  them. 
Here  men  are  gauged  by  what  they  are — not  by  what 
they  have.  The  people  I  meet  are  not  worrying 
about  their  family  trees.  The  lives  of  the  westerners 
begin — where  they  begin.  Here  men  are  men — and 
women  are  women.  The  poor  creatures  called  'la- 
dies', by  way  of  classification,  are  kept  away  from 
respectable  women.  Even  the  professional  gamblers 
are  labelled — they  wear  frock  coats  and  silk  hats, 
so  that  all  men  may  know  them  for  what  they  are. 
There  are  no  whited  sepulchers  in  the  fine  free  air 
of  the  western  frontier.  Rowdies  and  criminals  can 
take  their  choice,  be  men  or — " 

"Or  corpses,  eh?"  finished  Parker,  sententiously. 
You're  right — our  social  lines  are  pretty  closely 
drawn.  But  I  often  have  thought  how  trying  your 
position  must  be.  The  Miners'  Rest  is  a  rather 
queer  place  for  a  woman  reared  as  you  have  been. ' ' 

"No,  'queer'  is  not  the  word,"  she  enthused,  "just 
wonderful!  I  am  quite  as  safe  there  as  I  was  in 
my  father's  house — safer,  perhaps,  for  social  dis- 
tinctions are  not  always  moral  distinctions.  I've 
been  accosted  by  well-dressed  men  in  the  Fifth  Av- 
enue Hotel — even  in  the  streets  of  Albany  during 
my  visits  there.  Heaven  help  the  man  who  offers  a 


AT  THE  BED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          469 

woman  an  insult  in  Deadwood!  There's  only  a 
screen  between  the  bar-room  and  the  hotel  office 
at  the  Miners '  Eest.  A  real  partition  might  be  use- 
ful in  protecting  the  feelings  of  the  miners  that  con- 
gregate at  the  bar — they  are  comically  bashful.  It 
is  not  needed  to  protect  from  rudeness  the  women 
of  the  household  or  their  women  guests.  They  have 
as  many  brothers  to  protect  them  as  there  happen 
to  be  men  in  the  house.  I  fear  that  a  dress  suit 
never  will  look  good  to  me  again." 

"You  make  out  a  good  case  for  the  men,"  he  re- 
marked, amusedly,  "but  how  about  the  women?" 

"They  are  worthy  mates,  sisters,  daughters  and 
mothers  of  western  men,"  she  continued,  warmly. 
"Why,  there's  more  sincerity  and  kindheartedness 
in  Mrs.  McGinnis's  little  finger,  peppery  as  she  is, 
than  in  the  entire  bodies  of  any  dozen  society  women 
you  ever  met  in — in — " 

She  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"In  the  east,  Miss  Weatherson,"  he  responded, 
quietly. 

"She  noted  the  evasion  and  her  face  assumed  a 
puzzled  expression.  Her  companion  relieved  the 
situation  by  pointing  to  the  sky. 

"See!"  he  said,  "the  red  and  crimson  fires  are 
beginning  to  glow  in  the  west!  The  sun  looks  like 
a  huge  ball  of  incandescent  copper!" 

"Isn't  it  wonderful?"  she  exclaimed,  ecstatic- 
ally. 

"Such  sunsets  are  so  wonderful,"  he  answered, 
pensively,  "that  I  sometimes  suspect  that  the  an- 
cient sun-worshipers  builded  wiser  than  they  knew. 
Our  own  aborigines  too,  perhaps,  divined  the  arcan- 
um when  the  *  Great  Sun  Father',  came  into  their  re- 
ligion. Who  knows  ? '  * 


470  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

They  sat  without  speaking  for  a  while,  gazing  at 
the  beautiful  color  effects  in  the  western  heavens. 
He  finally  broke  the  silence. 

"Miss  Weatherson,  at  the  risk  of  being  consid- 
ered impertinent,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"Yes?" 

"Do  you  think  you  eventually  will  prove  your 
admiration  of  western  men  by  marrying  one  of 
them?" 

She  smiled  quizzically. 

"Your  question  is  purely  impersonal,  of  course — 
from  your  side. ' ' 

He  laughed,  rather  forcedly,  she  thought. 

"In  all  modesty,"  he  replied,  "it  must  be  imper- 
sonal. To  save  my  face,  after  your  warm  eulogy  of 
western  men,  I  perforce  must  crawl  back  into  my 
cocoon  and  be  an  easterner  again." 

"Well,"  she  answered,  with  an  obvious  pretense 
of  seriousness,  "since  you  presume  to  inquire  into 
my  matrimonial  plans,  I'll  tell  you  a  great  secret;  I 
— -don 't — know. ' ' 

"Ah!  But  you  may  have  to  know  before  you  get 
through,"  he  said,  gravely.  Half  the  men  in  town 
already  are  crazy  about  you." 

She  tossed  her  head  with  affected  indignation. 

"I  like  your  impudence,  sir!  Pray,  what  is  the 
matter  with  the  other  half?" 

"Pshaw!"  he  laughed,  "they're  all  too  old,  too 
young,  or — already  married." 

"That's  better,"  she  said,  lightly — "You  wrig- 
gled out  of  that  so  cleverly  that  I  am  going  to  for- 
give you  for  discounting  my  attractions." 

"Thank  you.  And  now,"  he  went  on,  soberly; 
"I'm  going  to  confess  that  I  was  only  half  jesting 
when  I  said  that  you  shortly  would  have  to  decide 


AT  THE  BED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          471 

whether  or  not  you  were  going  to  marry  a  western 
man.  Miss  Weatherson,  you  soon  will  have  to  come 
to  a  decision,  regarding  one  man  at  least. ' ' 

She  looked  at  him  in  wonderment. 

"A  decision!"  she  exclaimed;  "one  man! — Why, 
I  don't  quite  get  your  meaning." 

He  stood  down  from  the  boulder  and  gazed  at  her 
intently  for  a  brief  space. 

"Don't  misunderstand  me,  Miss  Weatherson," 
he  said,  earnestly,  "and  please  don't  think  me  im- 
pertinent. A  certain  man  is  deeply,  sincerely  in 
love  with  you.  He  is  a  king  among  men,  and  as 
brave  as  a  lion  in  most  things,  but  he's  bashful 
as  a  girl.  He  is  my  best  friend,  and — well, ' '  he  went 
on  desperately,  "I  don't  like  to  see  him  eating  his 
own  heart  out.  I  want  to  help  him  to  win — or  help 
him  to  be  cured.  There  is  no  middle  ground  for  a 
man  like  him. ' ' 

"What?"  she  demanded,  in  amazement,  "do  you 
mean  to  say  that — that  one  of  your  friends  is  in  love 
with  me — doesn't  know  where  he  stands  and  hasn't 
the  courage  to  find  out  f ' ' 

"That  is  precisely  what  I  mean." 

"Why,  how  absurd!" 

"Absurd  perhaps,  but  true,  nevertheless — and  not 
wholly  without  precedent, "  he  returned,  dryly.  "You 
do  not  yet  quite  understand  the  western  man  after 
all,  Miss  Weatherson.  There's  another  quality  that 
you  did  not  mention  in  your  eulogy — he  rarely  is 
conceited  enough  to  think  that  to  love  a  woman  is 
to  win  her.  He  sometimes  is  like  Moses  on  Mount 
Pisgah." 

"And  who  is  this  modest  paragon?"  she  queried, 
smilingly. 

'  *  Tom  Horton — but  he 's  all  man,  and  no  paragon. ' ' 


472  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"What!    Tom  Horton— the  sheriff?"  she  gasped. 

"Yes,  Tom  Horton — one  of  the  best  fellows  that 
ever  lived." 

"W — why,  you  astonish  me !    I  never  thought — " 

"Probably  not,"  he  replied,  quietly,  "Tom  is  not 
the  man  to  wear  his  heart  on  his  sleeve,  or  to  make 
false  moves,  but  lie's  been  doing  a  lot  of  thinking 
just  the  same." 

"But  I'm  not  the  least  interested  in  Mr.  Horton, 
save  as  a  friend,  and  have  given  him  absolutely  no 
encouragement  in  any  way.  I  never  for  a  moment 
suspected  that  he  was  becoming  interested  in  that 
fashion.  I  admire  him  greatly  and  have  enjoyed  his 
society  very  much,  but  as  for  anything  more — " 

"Why  not?"  he  argued,  persuasively,  "Tom's  a 
fine  fellow — he 's  popular — everybody  likes  him — he 's 
prosperous  and  absolutely  on  the  square.  He's  the 
very  flower  of  western  manhood.  He  loves  you 
dearly — he's  not  the  man  to  do  anything  by  halves. 
As  for  good  looks,  well,  if  I  were  a  woman,  I  'd  think 
twice  before  I  turned  him  down.  Why,  I  really  took 
it  for  granted  that  you  loved  him.  The  Lord  only 
knows  how  he  would  take  it  if  he  knew  that  I  was 
butting  in!  But,  if  you'll  forgive  me,  I'll  take  a 
chance  on  dear  old  Tom. ' ' 

She  smiled  enigmatically  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"I  do  forgive  you." 

*  *  Then  you  really  understand ! "  he  asked,  feeling- 
ly. 

There  was  a  warm  light  in  her  eyes  that  told  a 
world-old  story  as  she  answered  slowly. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  understand.  You  plead  eloquently, 
and  I  believe  that  all  you  say  of  your  friend  is  true, 
but,  you  see,  I  do  not  love  him. ' ' 


AT  THE  EED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          473 

"  Merely  because  you  never  have  thought  of  him 
in  that  way,"  he  urged,  half-heartedly,  knowing  the 
while  the  absurdity  of  his  argument.  "That  is  an 
impediment  which  can  readily  be  cured — now  that 
you  will  think  about  him.  Time  and  propinquity  ac- 
complish wonders. ' ' 

The  young  woman  laughed  heartily  at  his  trans- 
parent disingenuousness. 

"What  indifference  hath  kept  apart,"  she  par- 
aphrased, "let  no  man  put  together.  Take  my  ad- 
vice, Mr.  Parker ;  never  open  a  matrimonial  bureau. 
The  sort  of  thing  you  are  advocating  doesn't  work, 
or,  rather,  it  is  a  double-edged  sword  that  cuts  both 
ways — as  the  records  of  the  divorce  courts  prove." 

"But,  if  there's  nobody  else  and  you'll  sit  in  the 
game,"  he  earnestly  insisted,  "it  will  work  all  right 
in  this  case." 

"And  what  if  there  is  somebody  else?" 

"Then  I'm  ready  to  climb  the  tallest  tree  that 
you  may  select,  and  no  questions  asked.  It's  a  hope- 
less case." 

"It  surely  is — for  Mr.  Horton,"  she  asserted,  with 
unmistakable  positiveness. 

"I'm  mighty  sorry  there's  somebody  else,"  he 
remarked,  gloomily. 

She  looked  at  him  quizzically  for  a  space. 

"And  why  should  you  be  sorry?"  she  inquired, 
gently. 

"Because,"  he  faltered,  "because — " 

"A  woman's  reason,"  the  young  woman  mischiev- 
ously interrupted. 

"No,  by  heaven!"  he  contradicted.  "A  man's 
reason.  I  am  sorry  because — I  beg  your  pardon, 
Miss  Weatherson,  I — " 


474  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Granted,"  she  said,  archly,  "go  on — John  Al- 
den." 

He  looked  at  her  in  astonishment  which  they  both 
knew  was  more  than  half  hypocritical.  She  answered 
the  question  that  was  coming,  before  he  really  had 
formulated  it. 

"A  woman  always  knows,"  she  murmured,  softly, 
' '  if  she  cares  to  know.  This  is  different — you  are  not 
Mr.  Horton." 

He  resumed  his  seat  beside  her. 

"And  you  really  cared  to  know?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  I  cared." 

There  was  silence  for  a  brief  moment,  she  wait- 
ing expectantly,  and  he  looked  toward  the  kaleido- 
scopic sky  and  seriously  communing  with  himself. 
He  suddenly  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  face  set  in  lines 
of  stern  resolution. 

"I  must  not — I  will  not  go  on!  I  have  said  too 
much  already!" 

She  gazed  at  him  tenderly,  and  his  softening  was 
as  sudden  as  was  his  previous  determination  to  re- 
sist the  inevitable.  He  took  both  her  hands  in  his 
own. 

"I  have  no  right  to  go  on — Priscilla,"  he  said, 
moodily. 

"And  why  have  you  not  the  right?"  she  rejoined, 
earnestly.  * '  Can  you  not  eliminate  your  friend,  Hor- 
ton, from  the  situation?  Even  loyalty  and  friend- 
ship can  be  carried  too  far — to  the  point  of  fanati- 
cism. ' ' 

"Oh,  it  is  not  that!"  he  protested,  emphatically. 
"So  long  as  I  thought  Tom  was  the  bright  particular 
star,  I  would  have  been  a  fool,  as  well  as  a  disloyal 
friend,  if  I  had  spoken.  With  my  friend  out  of  the 
running  I  would  have  much  to  say  to  you,  only — ' 


1 1 


AT  THE  EED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          475 

"Only  what?"  she  whispered,  tensely  waiting. 

He  abruptly  released  her  hands  and  moved  away 
from  her. 

"I  am  not  worthy  to  even  speak  to  a  woman  like 
you ! "  he  cried,  fiercely. 

She  sprang  lightly  to  the  ground  and  stood  beside 
him. 

"Not  worthy!"  she  exclaimed,  in  wide-eyed  as- 
tonishment. "Not  worthy!  Why  are  you  not  wor- 
thy?" 

"There's  no  use  postponing  the  inevitable,  Miss 
Weatherson,"  he  answered,  resolutely.  "You  will 
have  to  know  sooner  or  later — and  I  may  as  well  tell 
you  now — it  is  only  fair.  I  want  you  to  know  just 
who  and  what  I  am,  and  how  impossible  it  is  that 
even  our  friendship  can  continue.  I  want  you  to 
know  this  more  especially,  because  I,  knowing  that 
you  know,  never  will  dare  to  think  of  you  again. 
I'll  tell  you  everything,  and  prove  to  you  that  my 
life  is  but  a  mass  of  wreckage — prove  to  you  that  1 
have  no  right  to  associate  with  a  noble  woman  like 
yourself,  much  less  drag  her  into  the  life  of  a 
miserable  outcast." 

She  listened  in  helpless  amazement,  and  when  he 
had  done  was  speechless  for  a  moment. 

1 1  You ! ' '  she  exclaimed,  recovering  herself.  * '  You, 
an  outcast ! ' ' 

He  bowed  his  head  and  replied,  despondently, 
"Yes,  an  outcast — with  a  brand  upon  him." 

He  raised  his  head,  with  quick  decision,  and,  taking 
a  step  nearer,  faced  her  squarely. 

"You  visited  Sing  Sing  penitentiary  a  few  months 
ago,  in  company  with  your  father.  You  were  shown 
about  the  prison  by  a  trusty. ' ' 

"Yes,  the  poor  fellow!"  she  exclaimed,  excitedly. 


476  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"He  escaped  while  escorting  us  around  the  prison, 
was  wounded  by  the  guards,  sprang  into  the  river 
and  was  drowned.  Oh !  it  was  an  awful  experience ! ' ' 
She  shuddered  at  the  unpleasant  recollection. 

"Look  at  me  closely,  Miss  Weatherson,"  he  said, 
tensely,  "did  you  ever  see  me  before  you  came  to 
Deadwood?" 

"Why,  no,"  she  replied  in  wonderment. 

"Look  again,"  he  said,  with  grim  persistence. 
"Imagine  me  with  my  hair  cut  short,  my  face  shaved, 
and  wearing  a  rusty  brown  suit  of  clothes.  Think — 
think  hard!" 

"I  don't  in  the  least  understand  you,"  said  the 
young  woman,  in  complete  bewilderment.  "But  how 
did  you  know  about  that  visit  to  the  prison?"  she 
suddenly  ejaculated,  in  profound  astonishment. 

"Liberty,  hair  and  respectable  raiment  make  a 
wonderful  change  in  a  man,  Miss  Weatherson." 

* '  What !    You  f — you  were  that— that— ' ' 

"I  was  that  convict — that  jail  bird — Trusty  No. 
515,  Miss  Weatherson." 

"And  you  were  not  drowned !"  she  exclaimed  with 
great  emotion. 

* '  Obviously  not,  more 's  the  pity, ' '  he  returned,  cyn- 
ically. "I  saved  my  number, — which  doesn't  count 
for  much  when  a  fellow  is  branded  as  an  escaped 
murderer  and  has  a  price  on  his  head. ' ' 

"But  you  were  innocent,"  she  said,  confidently. 

"Yes — I  was  jobbed.  I  interfered  in  a  fight  be- 
tween some  drunken  Italian  laborers  on  a  piece  of 
railroad  construction  work,  of  which  I  was  superin- 
tendent. In  the  fracas  a  man  was  killed — the  killing 
was  sworn  onto  me — and  I  went  up  the  river.  The 
story  is  short,  but  not  sweet. ' ' 


AT  THE  EED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          477 

"You  say  you  were  ' jobbed' — What  do  you 
mean  ? ' ' 

"I  mean,"  he  replied,  gloomily,  "that  a  plot  was 
laid  to  get  me  out  of  the  way.  The  quarrel  among 
the  laborers  furnished  the  opportunity.  The  Itali- 
ans were  crazy  drunk  when  the  unfortunate  affair 
happened.  One  of  the  conspirators  incited  the  brawl, 
or  at  least  plied  the  men  with  liquor  and  was  him- 
self in  the  mix-up.  He  accused  me  of  firing  the  fatal 
shot.  The  brawlers  had  drawn  weapons,  and  I  like 
a  fool  had  drawn  my  own  revolver  in  the  hope  of  in- 
timidating them.  In  the  fight  my  pistol  was  acciden- 
tally discharged.  The  rest  was  easy ;  the  Italians  were 
only  too  glad  to  support  the  charge  against  me  and 
thereby  save  themselves  from  rigid  investigation." 

The  young  woman  was  horror-stricken. 

"And  some  enemy  actually  laid  that  awful  trap 
for  you!" 

"Yes, — Bull  Hennessy,  the  man  whose  head  I 
tried  to  break  when  I  escaped,  and  who,"  he  added 
vengefully,  "was  lucky  enough  to  recover  from  the 
blow  I  gave  him — the  contemptible  hound!" 

"But  why  did  Hennessy  do  such  an  awful  thing?" 

"Get  well?"  he  asked,  satirically,  "or  put  up  the 
job  on  me?  If  you  mean  the  former,  he  got  well 
merely  because  the  devil  looks  after  his  children. 
If  you  mean  the  latter,  he  was  jealous  of  me,  and 
without  cause." 

"Surely,"  she  said,  hopefully,  taking  his  hand  in 
hers,  "there  must  be  some  way  to  prove  your  in- 
nocence. ' ' 

"There's  no  way,"  he  rejoined,  dejectedly,  gen- 
tly withdrawing  his  hand.  "I  would  rather  be  a 
hunted  beast  and  free,  than  taken  back  to  prison. 
The  slightest  move  in  the  direction  of  self-vindica- 


478  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

tion  would  send  me  back  to  Sing  Sing.  There  are 
only  three  persons  who  could  prove  me  innocent — 
Bull  Hennessy,  the  thug  he  hired  to  job  me,  and 
a  fellow-prisoner  in  the  pen.  None  of  them  would 
dare  say  a  word.  The  convict,  Pete  Johnson,  was 
my  fellow-trusty.  It  was  from  him  that  I  learned 
of  the  plot  that  sent  me  to  prison.  I  begged  him 
to  testify  in  my  behalf,  but  he  refused.  He  naturally 
was  loyal  to  his  order.  Then,  too,  he  dared  not  be- 
tray Hennessy  and  his  hired  thug." 

"But  why  could  you  not  tell  your  story  to  the  au- 
thorities?" she  queried,  eagerly. 

"The  authorities!"  he  exclaimed,  contemptuous- 
ly. "Why  did  I  not  complain  to  them?  Simply  be- 
cause I  was  a  convict.  An  accused  man's  word  does 
not  go  far,  and  what  show  has  a  convicted  man — a 
jail-bird?  I  almost  had  sunk  into  indifference  and 
complete  apathy  when  I  learned  the  truth,  and  then 
— God !  how  I  wanted  to  be  free !  I  had  no  plans, 
but  oh!  I  was  mad  for  liberty!  When  I  saw  you 
that  day  in  the  prison  and  heard  your  voice,  the 
world  I  had  lost,  all  that  I  had  been  and  all  that  life 
once  meant  to  me,  recurred  to  my  mind  in  an  over- 
whelming flood  of  recollection.  When  I  saw  that 
gate  open,  I  had  an  almost  maniacal  impulse  to  es- 
cape. You  know  what  happened. 

"When  I  rose  to  the  surface  after  plunging  into 
the  river,  I  found  myself  beneath  a  floating  mass  of 
wreckage  that  had  drifted  in  shore.  I  remained 
concealed  beneath  it  until  dark.  I  then  made  for  the 
railroad,  swung  under  a  passing  freight  train  and 
took  my  first  degree  as  a  tramp  by  riding  to  New 
York  on  a  brake-beam.  I  did  not  dare  go  near  my 
mother,  for  I  knew  the  police  surely  would  be  watch- 
ing her  home — and,"  he  sighed,  "I  never  saw  her 


AT  THE  EED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          479 

again.  I  procured  a  change  of  clothing  by  sneaking 
down  to  the  Bowery,  posing  as  an  escaped  crook  and 
enlisting  the  sympathies  of  my  supposed  kind  by 
playing  up  my  acquaintance  with  my  fellow-trusty, 
Stubby. 

"I  came  to  Deadwood,  and  Robert  Parkyn  since 
has  been  a  memory  which  I  have  tried  hard  to  forget. 
Indeed,  I  almost  had  forgotten  it,  when  you  once 
more  came  into  my  life — you,  whom  also  I  vainly  had 
tried  to  forget." 

"But  how  did  you  manage  to  work  your  way  out 
here?" 

"I  didn't  work  my  way,  I  paid  it.  I  am  not  proud 
of  the  way  I  obtained  the  money,  but  necessity  knew 
no  law  and  the  money  was  hard  and  honestly  earned. 
Incidentally  I  made  good  with  the  crooks  who  hid 
me  from  the  police.  I  went  against  a  pugilistic 
champion  at  Harry  Hill 's  and  received  two  hundred 
dollars  for  staying  four  rounds.  He  taught  me  the 
difference  between  a  professional  and  an  amateur, 
but  as  I  got  both  the  purse  and  the  lesson,  I  was 
satisfied  to  take  the  beating." 

"And  you  really  remembered  me?"  she  asked, 
softly. 

"Remembered  you?  I  have  worn  your  image  in  my 
heart  ever  since  I  escaped  from  that  hell  on  the  Hud- 
son— and  long  before. ' ' 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  card  case,  and  from  it 
an  old  and  yellowed  leaf  of  a  magazine. 

"Here  is  your  picture,  which  I  cut  from  a  maga- 
zine and  had  carried  for  months  before  the  events 
that  put  me  in  prison.  You  can  imagine  the  emo- 
tion which  rent  me  when  I  saw  you.  Your  picture, 
with  my  dear  old  mother's,  lay  next  to  my  heart  at 
that  very  moment.  It  has  lain  there  ever  since.  I 


480  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

never  have  had  the  courage  to  destroy  it,  as  much  as 
I  desired  to  forget.  You  typified  the  life  I  had  lost 
— the  life  that  rightfully  belonged  to  me — the  hap- 
piness that  might  have  been  mine." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  overcome  by  a  flood  of 
emotions.  Pulling  himself  together,  he  continued: 

"Your  face  and  the  sound  of  your  voice  brought 
it  all  back  to  me  that  day  in  the  prison.  They  brought 
it  all  back  to  me  here,  but  I  knew  the  hopelessness 
of  it  all,  and  day  after  day  I  have  resolved  to  do  the 
only  thing  left  for  me  to  do — and  as  often  have  I 
failed  in  my  resolve." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  demanded,  looking  at 
him  anxiously. 

"Not  that,"  he  answered,  reassuringly.  "I  am 
not  a  coward.  I  mean  that  I  must  move  on." 

"Move  on?  Surely  you  would  not  leave  Dead- 
wood!"  she  exclaimed,  in  alarm. 

"Yes — it  is  the  only  logical  thing  to  do." 

She  placed  both  her  hands  persuasively  on  his 
shoulders  and  gazed  earnestly  into  his  eyes. 

"But  this  is  the  west,  Eobert  Parkyn,"  she  plead- 
ed. "You  know  my  creed — my  faith  in  the  west  and 
its  people.  Why  not  try  to  feel  that  your  life,  and 
mine — our  life — began  here  in  these  western  hills! 
Better  still,  let  us  forget  your  past  as  one  does  a 
horrid  dream,  and  let  our  lives  begin  here,  and  now 
— at  this  very  moment." 

He  looked  away,  but  his  resolution  did  not  waver. 

"That  is  impossible!"  he  answered,  firmly,  "and 
besides,  you  shall  not  be  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of 
my  misfortunes.  Love,  faith,  sympathy  —  noble 
emotions  all!  Too  noble  to  be  abused.  When  skel- 
etons creep  into  the  family  closet,  it's  bad  enough, 
but  to  deliberately  build  one's  hearth  in  a  charnel 


AT  THE  EED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          481 

house !  Why,  it  would  be  sheer  insanity !  I  must  go 
away  from  the  Hills ;  it  is  only  fair  to  you — and  on- 
ly humane  to  myself.  There  is  no  one  but  you  and 
Tom  to  regret,  for  my  mother  is  dead — she  died 
soon  after  I  escaped  from  Sing  Sing — and  Jack  Hal- 
loran,  the  best  friend  I  ever  had,  back  yonder  in  the 
east,  was  killed  by  a  blast  the  day  before  I  left  for 
the  west.  If  my  sky  ever  clears;  when  I  can  prove 
my  innocence  and  show  you  a  clean  slate,  I  will  come 
back  to  you,  here,  or  wherever  you  are — if  it  is  not 
too  late." 

Her  hands  fell  to  her  sides,  and  she  faced  him  in 
all  the  glory  and  confidence  of  self-reliant  woman- 
hood. 

"Look  into  my  eyes,''  she  commanded,  feelingly. 

He  turned  and  looked  into  her  wonderful  eyes,  and 
when  he  saw  the  soul-light  in  their  limpid  depths  he 
knew  that  she  would  wait. 

"It  never  will  be  too  late,  Robert  Parkyn,"  she 
murmured. 

"I  am  human  enough  to  be  glad  to  hear  you  say 
that,"  he  replied,  slowly  and  decisively,  "but  not  sel- 
fish enough  to  permit  you  to  obligate  yourself  to  even 
remember  me.  By  leaving  Deadwood  I  shall  do  the 
only  thing  in  my  power  to  correct  the  injustices  of 
fate.  To  remain  would  bring  only  unhappiness  to 
us  both." 

She  knew  enough  of  human  character  to  know  that 
he  was  inflexible  in  his  determination  but,  woman- 
like, she  fought  on  to  the  end. 

"Is  there  nothing  that  can  persuade  you  to  re- 
main ? ' ' 

"Nothing." 

"When  are  you  going?"  she  inquired,  dejectedly, 
as  she  comprehended  the  finality  of  his  answer. 


482  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Just  as  soon  as  I  can  arrange  my  affairs.  That 
will  not  take  long,  a  week  or  two  at  most.  I  want 
to  provide  for  the  working  of  my  mine.  It  has  not 
been  very  profitable  so  far,  but  I  have_faith  in  it, 
and  feel  that  it  yet  will  turn  out  right.  I  hope  to  so 
arrange  matters  that,  if  my  faith  ever  is  justified, 
I  can  participate  in  the  fruits  of  my  labors — and  I 
need  those  fruits,  I  assure  you.  And  now,  Miss 
Weatherson,  I'm  going  to  leave  you  to  finish  your 
work.  If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  call  for  you  lat- 
er and  escort  you  home. ' ' 

"Please  do,"  she  said,  extending  her  hands. 

He  silently  pressed  her  hands  for  a  brief  instant, 
then  slowly  went  his  way  up  the  road  that  wound 
through  the  hills  backing  the  school  grounds. 

The  young  woman,  torn  with  conflicting  emotions 
and  with  tears  in  her  lovely  eyes,  watched  him  until 
he  was  lost  to  sight  among  the  trees  and  rocks  that 
flanked  the  road. 

Just  at  the  moment  when  Parker  left  Miss  Wea- 
therson, Jim  Atherton  appeared  on  the  road  that 
led  townward.  He  noticed  the  young  couple  as  they 
parted,  and  stopped  short.  With  a  sardonic  smile 
he,  too,  watched  the  young  miner  as  he  wended  his 
upward  way. 

"So,  my  fine  jail  bird,"  he  muttered  viciously,  to 
himself,  "you've  been  singing  a  song  for  the  pretty 
little  school-ma'am,  eh!  I'll  see  if  I  can't  improve 
her  taste  in  music." 

Still  sneering  he  slowly  walked  towards  the  young 
woman. 

As  Miss  Weatherson,  with  a  deep  sigh,  turned  to 
enter  the  school-house,  she  saw  Atherton  approach- 
ing. She  gave  a  start  of  surprise  and  stood  stock 
still,  in  silent  astonishment.  Noting  that  she  saw 


AT  THE  EED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          483 

him,  lie  composed  his  features  and  was  as  bland  as 
oil. 

"You  seem  surprised  to  see  me,  Miss  Weather- 
son,"  he  said,  with  exaggerated  politeness. 

"I — I  confess  that  I  really  was  not  expecting  to 
see  you  here  again,  Mr.  Atherton. ' ' 

"Indeed?"  he  sneered,  "I'm  sorry  to  have  dis- 
turbed you. ' ' 

"I  really  have  some  work  to  finish,  sir,  and  shall 
have  to  ask  you  to  excuse  me." 

"Surely  your  work  will  not  suffer  if  you  devote 
a  moment  to  me. ' ' 

"Possibly  not,  if  it  is  but  a  moment." 

The  coolness  of  her  manner  and  the  steadiness  of 
her  gaze  would  have  disconcerted  a  man  less  case- 
hardened  than  Jim  Atherton.  His  assurance,  how- 
ever, rarely  deserted  him. 

"Won't  you  be  seated?"  he  asked,  indicating  the 
boulder. 

'  *  Thank  you,  sir,  I  prefer  to  stand. ' ' 

He  laughed  in  a  most  irritating  way. 

"Oh,  very  well — just  as  you  like,"  he  replied,  in- 
solently. "I'm  still  unpopular  with  you,  evidently. 
My  visit  is  not  quite  so  welcome  as  that  of  the  party 
who  just  left  you,  eh?" 

She  looked  him  over  with  withering  contempt  for 
a  few  seconds. 

1 t  Since  you  compel  me  to  say  it,  sir, ' '  she  spirit- 
edly replied,  "most  emphatically,  no ! " 

"If  he  should  ask  you  the  same  question  that  I 
did  a  few  evenings  ago,"  he  went  on,  with  sublime 
impudence,  "you'd  give  him  an  answer  quite  dif- 
ferent from  the  one  I  received. ' ' 

The  young  woman  drew  herself  up  proudly  and  her 
eyes  flashed  with  righteous  indignation. 


484  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"That  is  a  matter  which  I  do  not  care  to  discuss 
with  you,  Mr.  Atherton.  A  man  is  entitled  to  ask  a 
woman  what  her  sentiments  are  toward  himself — 
no  more.  You  have  enjoyed  that  privilege  and — 
well,  don't  be  a  cad,  sir." 

Atherton  was  almost  livid  with  rage,  but  succeed- 
ed in  partially  controlling  himself. 

"So,  it  has  gone  that  far,  has  it!"  he  exclaimed, 
hotly.  "Well,  I  am  going  to  be  fairer  to  you  than 
you  have  been  to  me.  I  offered  you  my  love — you 
not  only  turned  me  down,  but  have  expressed  an 
antipathy  for  me  that  is  not  flattering  to  my  self- 
esteem.  I'm  only  human,  and  when  a  man's  vanity 
is  hurt—" 

"I  did  not  want  to  wound  you,"  she  rejoined, 
earnestly.  "I  gladly  would  have  avoided  telling 
you  the  truth — that  you  repelled  me — but  you  forced 
it  upon  me,  and  what  else  could  I  do  I  You  are  not 
at  all  graceful  or  convincing  in  your  love-making, 
Mr.  Atherton." 

"All  right,  let  it  stand  that  way,  Miss  Weather- 
son,  ' '  he  replied,  with  transparent  hypocrisy — ' '  For 
your  own  sake,  I'm  willing  to  overlook  your  cruel 
and  unjust  treatment  of  myself.  I  still  love  you, 
and  I'm  going  to  try  to  save  you  from  making  a 
terrible  mistake." 

"That  is  very  kind  of  you,"  she  said,  calmly. 
"Pray,  what  is  the  calamity  from  which  you  would 
save  me!" 

"The  bestowal  of  your  affections  on  a  man  who 
is  unworthy  of  you — the  man  who  has  just  left  you." 

"Ah,  indeed!    What  is  wrong  with  him?" 

"Believe  me,  Miss  Weatherson,"  he  replied,  with 
a  deceitful  semblance  of  sincerity,  "it  is  only  pure 
friendliness  and  a  sense  of  duty  that  impel  me  to  in- 


AT  THE  RED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          485 

form  you  that  Bob  Parker  is  an  escaped  criminal — 
a  murderer.  He's  wanted  at  Sing  Sing." 

The  young  woman 's  lip  curled  with  contempt,  and 
she  did  not  try  to  conceal  her  disgust. 

"I  appreciate  your  disinterested  regard,  Mr.  Ath- 
erton,"  she  answered,  satirically,  "but  you  are  just 
a  little  late  with  your  information.  Mr.  Parker  has 
just  told  me  the  circumstances  of  his  unjust  con- 
viction and  imprisonment.  I  already  knew  the  de- 
tails of  his  sudden  departure  from  Sing  Sing." 

Atherton  was  astounded. 

' « What !    You  knew  them ! "  he  cried. 

She  smiled  blandly,  with  thorough  enjoyment  of 
his  discomfiture  and  bewilderment. 

"Yes,  I  knew  them,"  she  reiterated,  quietly,  "you 
see,  I  assisted  him  to  escape." 

"See  here,  Miss  Weatherson,"  he  demanded,  fur- 
iously, "are  you  making  game  of  me,  or  are  you — " 

"Crazy?"  she  interrupted.  "No — nor  am  I  mak- 
ing game  of  you.  But  Mr.  Parker  will  return  short- 
ly. Suppose  you  ask  him  if  I  did  not  aid  him  in 
escaping  from  prison.  He'll  be  glad  to  solve  the 
riddle  for  you." 

By  a  supreme  effort  Atherton  barely  managed  to 
suppress  an  oath. 

"I  can't  quite  see  the  joke,  Miss  Weatherson.  I 
can  hardly  believe  that  Parker  was  fool  enough  to 
tell  you  his  story." 

"Mr.  Parker  is  no  fool — nevertheless  he  did  tell 
me  his  story." 

"And  you  still  love  him?" 

She  looked  him  through  and  through,  with  utter 
scorn. 

"I  suspected  that  I  loved  him  before  I  heard  his 
story,"  she  answered,  serenely.  I  was  pretty  cer- 


486  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

tain  that  I  loved  him  after  he  had  told  it — and  now 
that  I  hear  it  from  your  lips,  I  am  absolutely  sure 
that  I  love  him." 

"You!  You  love  a  jail-bird!"  he  exclaimed,  con- 
temptuously. 

"There  are  things  that  are  worse  than  jail-birds," 
she  cuttingly  retorted.  ' '  For  instance,  human  hawks 
and  buzzards.  Let  me  tell  you  something,  sir:  If 
Bob  Parker  were  twice  guilty,  I  would  love  him  for 
the  contrast  he  presents  to  such  a  creature  as  you. 
As  I  believe  him  to  be  innocent,  your  cowardly  at- 
tempt to  injure  him  makes  me  worship  him. ' ' 

Atherton  now  was  perfectly  infuriated.  He  took 
a  step  towards  her  as  if  to  offer  violence,  but  suc- 
ceeded in  curbing  himself. 

' '  So,  you  not  only  spurn  my  love,  but  you  deliber- 
ately insult  me !"  he  stormed.  "Very  well,  we'll  see 
if  you'll  love  your  jail-bird  caged  as  well  as  you  love 
him  free.  You'll  have  a  chance  to  decide  that  before 
many  days.  The  authorities  at  Sing  Sing  won't 
mind  sending  for  him. ' ' 

The  young  woman  was  not  in  the  least  frightened 
by  Atherton 's  furious  resentment  of  her  scathing 
denunciation. 

"If  some  men  should  say  that,  Mr.  Atherton,"  she 
rejoined,  coolly,  "I  should  be  greatly  concerned  lest 
an  innocent  man  be  sent  back  to  prison,  but  I  am 
not  in  the  least  alarmed,  for  I  think  you  are  a  cow- 
ard." 

"A  coward ! "  he  roared, '  *  a  coward ! ' ' 

"Yes,  a  coward,"  she  reiterated,  calmly.  "You 
will  not  dare  betray  Bob  Parker  so  long  as  you  are 
in  the  Hills.  If  you  betray  him  elsewhere — well, 
the  danger  to  which  he  will  be  exposed  will  be  more 
than  compensated  for  by  your  absence  from  Dead- 


AT  THE  BED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          487 

wood.  And  your  absence  will  be  permanent,  if  I 
know  the  temper  of  our  men  and  correctly  estimate 
your  regard  for  your  own  safety. ' ' 

By  this  time,  Atherton  had  completely  regained 
control  of  himself,  and  was  as  cool  as  if  he  had  been 
engaged  in  a  shady  business  deal,  in  which  matters 
his  sang  froid  was  proverbial. 

"You  forget,  my  dear  young  woman,"  he  said, 
patronizingly,  that  there  is  supposed  to  be  a  sem- 
blance of  law  and  order,  even  in  this  God-forsaken 
town.  I  doubt  if  even  here,  a  law-abiding  man  would 
endanger  his  life  by  exposing  an  escaped  murderer 
and  bringing  him  to  justice.  And,"  he  continued, 
malevolently,  "there  are  other  ways  of — " 

"Here  comes  Mr.  Parker  now.  He'll  be  glad  to 
hear  your  plans, ' '  she  interrupted,  significantly. 

A  moment  later  Parker  turned  the  corner  of  the 
school-house,  and  seeing  a  man  with  Miss  Weather- 
son,  paused  abruptly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Weatherson,"  he  said, 
I  did  not  know  that — Oh,  hello !  Atherton.  How  are 
you?" 

"How  are  you,  Parker?"  growled  Atherton,  sulk- 
ily. 

Parker  turned  inquiringly  to  the  young  woman. 

"I  trust  I  am  not  de  trop." 

"Not  in  the  least.  Mr.  Atherton,"  she  said,  mean- 
ingly, "was  just  bidding  me  adieu  as  you  came  up." 

"Yes,"  returned  Atherton,  through  his  clenched 
teeth,  and  desperately  trying  to  retain  his  equipoise, 
"I — I  was  just  going,  so  I  will  say  good  evening, 
Miss  Weatherson." 

The  young  woman  bowed  coldly,  and  with  an  in- 
solent nod  to  Parker,  who  barely  acknowledged  the 
salutation,  Atherton  departed  towards  town. 


488  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

The  young  couple  paid  no  further  attention  to  the 
unwelcome  visitor,  who,  when  he  reached  the  con- 
cealment of  the  trees  a  little  distance  down  the  road, 
turned  and  glared  vindictively  at  the  pair. 

"I'll  pay  my  debts  to  you  some  day,  Mr.  Robert 
Parkyn — alias  Bob  Parker — and  don't  you  forget 
it, ' '  he  growled  ferociously,  to  himself. 

Atherton  shook  his  fist  at  the  objects  of  his  wrath 
and  with  a  final  wicked  glare  in  their  direction  hur- 
ried on  his  way. 

Miss  Weatherson  grasped  both  of  Parker's  hands, 
and  for  a  time  was  too  overcome  with  emotion  to 
speak. 

She  finally  found  her  voice  and  sobbed,  almost 
hysterically : 

"That  man  knows!" 

"Great  God!    Atherton?    He  knows  my — " 

"He  has  just  told  me  your  story." 

"Atherton  told  you  my  story?"  he  repeated,  me- 
chanically. 

"Yes,  and  oh,  Mr.  Parker !— Robert !— I 'm  afraid 
of  him — for  you,"  she  said,  tearfully. 

The  young  man  gently  drew  away  his  hands. 

"So  am  I,"  he  replied,  with  deep  concern.  "He 
will  either  expose,  or  attempt  to  blackmail  me — 
perhaps  both.  Surely  you  see  now,  Miss  Weather- 
son,  that  I  must  leave  the  Hills — and  very  soon. ' ' 

She  at  last  instinctively  knew  that  they  both  would 
be  compelled  to  submit  to  what  apparently  was  the 
inevitable. 

"Yes,  you  are  right !  You  must  leave  Deadwood — 
at  once,  if  you  can. ' ' 

They  clasped  each  other's  hands  and  gazed  into 
each  other's  eyes  with  the  mutual  sympathy  and 


AT  THE  EED  SCHOOL  HOUSE          489 

understanding  that  only  love  and  a  common  affec- 
tion can  give. 

' '  Come,  it  is  growing  late, ' '  he  said,  gently.  ' '  Get 
your  examination  papers,  lock  your  door  and  let  us 
be  going  home. ' ' 

11  Shall  we  not  wait  for  Ellen  and  Mr.  Smithers?" 
she  asked. 

He  smiled  faintly  at  the  simplicity  of  the  question. 

"No — they  will  not  return.  Ellen  is  a  chaperon 
to  the  manner  born,  and  Smithers  is  wiser  than  he 
looks — lucky  dog ! ' ' 

Lingeringly,  and  in  silence,  the  couple  walked 
homeward. 

"You  will  arrange  your  affairs  as  quickly  as  you 
can,  won't  you?"  pleaded  the  young  woman,  as  they 
separated  at  the  hotel. 

"Yes,"  he  promised,  gravely,  "and  all  the  more 
speedily  because  I — well,  because  I  feel  that  it  would 
grieve  you  to  know  that  I  had  returned  to — to  hell, 
Miss  Weatherson.  " 


CHAPTEB  XXVIII 

SMITHEBS   MAKES   A  TEN   STRIKE 

Bob  Parker's  cabin  and  mine  were  located  about 
a  mile  and  a  half  from  town,  on  the  side  of  what, 
anywhere  but  in  the  Black  Hills,  would  have  been 
considered  a  mountain  of  quite  respectable  propor- 
tions. 

The  cabin  was  the  typic  miner's  habitation — a 
very  primitive  affair  of  the  shack  order,  built  of 
roughly-hewn  logs.  The  architectural  defects  of 
the  structure,  however,  were  redeemed  by  its  pic- 
turesqueness. 

On  the  front  of  the  rude  cabin,  between  the  door 
and  the  little  solitary  window,  was  nailed  a  large 
wolf  pelt.  Against  the  wall,  just  beneath  the  trophy 
of  the  chase,  was  a  long,  rough  pine  bench,  on  which 
stood  a  capacious  wooden  water  bucket,  containing 
a  long-handled  tin  dipper. 

Underneath  the  bench  was  a  suspicious-looking 
demijohn  of  mammoth  size  and  inviting  appearance 
which,  being  filled  with  a  non-bibulous  fluid,  kero- 
sene, made  a  fraudulent  display  of  spirituous  hospi- 
tality and  good  cheer. 

On  huge  nails  driven  into  the  logs  composing  the 
front  of  the  cabin  hung  a  varied  assortment  of  home- 
ly, more  or  less  battered  cooking  utensils,  and  ar- 
ticles of  raiment  of  various  colors,  which  latter  evi- 


SMITHEES  MAKES  A  TEN-STEIKE    491 

dently  had  experienced  hard  service  and  rude  laund- 
ering. 

Immediately  in  front  of  the  shack,  a  few  feet 
from  the  door,  stood  several  smoothly-sawn  stumps 
of  immense  trees,  leaning  against  which  were  sev- 
eral business-like  picks  and  shovels. 

At  the  corner  of  the  cabin  was  a  barrel  for  the 
collection  of  rain  water,  and  in  what  may  be  termed 
for  courtesy's  sake  the  dooryard,  stood  a  saw-buck 
and  several  piles  of  fire-wood.  Against  one  of  these 
piles  reclined  a  wood-saw  and  a  much  battered  ax — 
that  seemed  to  be  struggling  against  an  inclination 
to  tumble  down  hill. 

Tethered  to  a  sapling  behind  the  cabin  was  a  cou- 
ple of  stubby  little  burros,  patiently  nibbling  at  the 
bushes  and  stubble. 

A  number  of  trees  of  large  size  and  various  kinds 
surrounded  the  cabin  and  bedecked  the  mountain  be- 
hind it.  A  narrow,  rocky  and  meandering  trail  led 
from  the  main  road  past  the  cabin  and  wound  its 
upward  way  among  the  hills  at  the  rear. 

Higher  up  on  the  side  of  the  mountain,  a  little 
removed  from  the  cabin,  was  the  opening  of  the 
mine  which  had  cost  its  owner  so  many  weary  hours 
of  arduous  labor  with  so  little  tangible  result.  Be- 
low and  in  front  of  the  mine  was  an  enormous  heap 
of  worthless  "  tailings, ' '  excavated  rock  and  earth 
that  evidenced  Parker's  industry — and  disappoint- 
ment. 

Early  one  morning,  a  week  subsequent  to  the 
events  related  in  the  previous  chapter,  our  distin- 
guished friend,  Mr.  W.  Ponsonby  Smithers,  might 
have  been  seen  near  the  cabin  blazing  away  with  a 
revolver  almost  as  large  as  a  field  piece,  at  an  impro- 


492  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

vised  target  composed  of  a  full  sheet  of  an  old  news- 
paper attached  to  a  huge  tree. 

The  Englishman  had  been  blissfully  enjoying  him- 
self since  daylight,  apparently  unconscious  of  the 
approach  of  the  breakfast  hour.  He  was  awkwardly 
shooting  from  the  hip,  had  just  fired  a  shot,  had  ap- 
proached the  tree  and  was  critically  examining  the 
target  to  ascertain  the  amount  of  execution.  On 
peering  closely  at  the  mark  he  was  amazed  at  his 
own  prowess. 

"By  Jove !  I  believe  I  hit  the  tree !  I  really  do," 
he  cried,  gleefully,  feeling  for  his  discarded  mono- 
cle. "And  I  hit  it  without  me  eye-glass ! ' ' 

He  examined  his  gun  in  amateurish  fashion,  re- 
loaded it  and  then,  stepping  back  to  firing  range, 
again  shot  at  the  target. 

The  weapon  must  have  been  clumsily  held,  for  the 
recoil  jarred  Smithers'  gun-hand  most  unmercifully, 
causing  him  to  drop  the  pistol  to  the  ground. 

* '  My  word ! ' '  he  exclaimed,  solicitously  examining 
his  hand  and  counting  his  fingers.  "That  was  a 
ripper!  Most  extraor'nary,  really!  The  bloomin' 
piece  kicks  like  an  elephant  gun,  don'tcher  know! 
An'  Horton  said  it  was  as  gentle  as  a  government 
mule!— what?" 

He  dawdled  up  to  the  tree  and  slowly  circled 
around  it,  minutely  examining  the  bark  and  the 
target  in  an  obviously  puzzled  and  near-sighted  fash- 
ion. 

"How  extraor'nary,  really!"  he  observed.  "I 
don't  believe  I  hit  the  bloomin'  tree  at  all,  an'  that 
last  one  was  a  most  marvelous  discharge — top  hole, 
don'tcher  know." 

Just  as  the  last  shot  was  fired,  Parker  appeared 
at  the  door  of  the  cabin  and  noting  the  ludicrous 


SMITHEES  MAKES  A  TEN-STEIKE    493 

performance,  laughed  so  vociferously  that  the  ob- 
ject of  his  mirth  surely  must  have  heard  it,  had  he 
not  been  so  preoccupied  with  his  revolver  score. 

" Hello!  there,  Smithers.  Don't  you  want  any 
grub?  The  flapjacks  are  getting  cold,  and  I'll  not 
cook  another  batch,  mind  that.  Close  that  schutzen 
fest  and  come  to  breakfast.  I've  finished  mine." 

"But  I  say,  really.  I'd  like  to  hit  that  blawsted 
tree  again,  you  know,"  protested  the  marksman. 

"Oh,  life's  too  short!"  expostulated  the  young 
miner.  * '  Come  on  in  to  breakfast,  you  blood-thirsty 
desperado !  You  ought  to  have  had  that  long-suffer- 
ing tree  cut  down  by  this  time.  Don't  you  know 
that  lead  costs  money?" 

"Yes,  but  Mr.  Horton  is  teachin'  me  to  shoot 
from  the  hip,  an'  I  was  doin'  a  bit  of  practicin' — 
what?"  argued  Smithers,  as  he  picked  up  his  wea- 
pon. 

"And  your  blawsted  gun  got  so  bloomin'  hot  you 
couldn't  hold  it,  eh?"  chuckled  the  other.  "Well, 
shooting  won't  warm  up  those  flapjacks  or  keep 
the  coffee  hot,  so  get  a  move  on  you. ' ' 

Smithers  looked  alternately  at  the  gun  and 
the  target,  gave  his  still  aching  fingers  a  final  solicit- 
ous inspection  and  grudgingly  followed  his  friend  in- 
to the  cabin,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

Parker  shortly  reappeared,  and  going  to  the  al- 
most uninjured  tree  inspected  the  target. 

"Well,"  he  laughed,  as  he  counted  the  hits,  "if 
that  tenderfoot  partner  of  mine  ever  learns  to  handle 
that  gun  right  and  runs  amok,  he'll  depopulate  the 
Black  Hills,  but  if  Tom  doesn't  have  better  success 
in  making  a  man-killer  out  of  him  than  I'm  having 
in  teaching  him  to  mine,  life  insurance  rates  won't 
go  up  much  in  this  vicinity. ' ' 


494  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

He  went  to  one  of  the  stumps  in  front  of  the 
cabin,  selected  from  the  assortment  of  tools  leaning 
against  it  a  pick  and  shovel  and  started  toward  the 
mine. 

''Hello !  there,  Mr.  Argonaut,"  called  a  deep  voice. 

Parker  wheeled  about  and  saw  his  friend,  Tom 
Horton,  laboriously  toiling  toward  him  up  the  path. 

" Hello,  yourself!"  answered  the  young  miner. 
"Why  didn't  you  wait  for  the  elevator — and  where 's 
your  horse?" 

"The  nigger  that  runs  the  elevator  is  on  strike, 
an'  that  fool  horse  o'  mine  has  got  a  lame  shoulder," 
puffed  Horton,  removing  his  hat  and  wiping  the 
sweat  from  his  face  with  the  back  of  his  formidable 
hand. 

The  two  men  shook  hands  as  if  vying  with  each 
other  in  an  attempt  to  dislocate  each  other's1  arms. 

"What  brought  you  around  at  this  time  of  the 
day,  Tom?"  queried  Parker.  "Has  your  star  pupil, 
Smithers,  been  killing  somebody?  He  was  down 
town  last  night. ' ' 

"Nope,"  chuckled  Horton;  "he  ain't  got  anybody 
so  far,  but  he's  young  yet,  an'  I  'have  me  hopes'." 

"So,  Mister  Sheriff,  you  really  are  trying  to  make 
business  for  yourself  by  teaching  him  to  shoot, 
eh?  That  was  a  lovely  baby  cannon  you  presented 
him  with!" 

"Say,  Bob,"  snickered  Horton,  "ye'd  oughter 
seen  his  face  when  I  handed  him  that  grown-up  gun ! 
Is  he  practicin'  reg'lar?" 

"Practicing?  I  should  say  he  was!  He's  out  ev- 
ery morning  at  daylight,  blazing  away  at  that  tree 
yonder. ' ' 

The  sheriff  went  to  the  tree  indicated  and  looked 
it  over  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur. 


SMITHERS  MAKES  A  TEN-STEIKE    495 

' 'Urn— ah!"  he  commented.  "He's  hit  the  tree 
twice.  That's  not  so  bad  fer  a  tenderfoot,  even  if 
he  did  miss  the  paper." 

"  Bad!  "shouted  the  other.  "Bad!  Say,  Tom,  did 
you  ever  read  the  statistics  of  the  number  of  shots 
per  hit  in  a  battle  f ' ' 

"Seems  ter  me  I  have,"  chuckled  the  sheriff. 

"Well,"  laughed  Parker,  "Smithers  is  a  soldier, 
every  inch  of  him.  He's  spent  seven  dollars  for 
ammunition  in  less  than  that  many  days.  Net  re- 
sults, two  hits— and  no  bull's-eyes." 

"Oh,  he'll  get  there  yet,"  returned  Horton.  "What 
luck  are  ye  havin'  makin'  a  miner  of  him?" 

"He  digs  just  as  he  shoots — with  enthusiasm,  and 
with  a  worse  score.  You've  got  me  beat,  Tom;  he's 
hit  the  tree  twice,  but  he  hasn't  yet  struck  anything 
in  the  mine  but  perfectly  good  rock  and  clean  grav- 
el." 

Just  at  that  moment  the  object  of  their  conver- 
sation appeared  in  the  doorway  of  the  cabin,  feeling 
for  his  departed  eye-glass  and  gazing  helplessly 
about. 

"Oh,  I  say,  Mr.  Parker!  Where's  me  bloomin' 
tools?" 

"Eight  where  you  left  them — by  that  stump  over 
yonder,"  answered  his  partner,  winking  humorous- 
ly at  his  friend.  "You  forgot  to  put  them  in  the 
stove  last  evening." 

"Thanks,  awfully,  old  chap." 

The  Englishman  proceeded  to  the  stump,  gathered 
up  his  tools  and  with  pick  on  shoulder  and  shovel 
in  hand  was  about  to  go  to  his  work,  when  his  eye 
fell  on  the  sheriff. 

"Well,  by  Jove!"  he  exclaimed  with  genuine  joy, 
dropping  his  tools  and  rushing  to  the  visitor  with 


496  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

both  hands  extended  in  hearty  greeting.  "Good 
mornin',  Mr.  Horton." 

The  caller  gravely  took  Smithers 's  hands  and 
shook  them  cordially. 

"Call  me  Tom,  Ponsy,  old  boy.  You're  not  a 
tenderfoot  anymore,  an'  we're  good  pals  now,  ye 
know." 

"Are  we,  really?  How  extraor'nary!  I'm  glad 
to  see  you,  Mr. — ah,  Tom;  very  glad,  don'tcher 
know." 

' '  Me  too,  old  chap, ' '  replied  Horton.  ' '  How  are  ye 
gettin'  on  with  yer  shootin'?" 

"RippinM  Couldn't  be  better.  My  word!  I 
wish  I  had  time  to  show  you  me  score.  But  I  've  got 
to  get  to  work,  I  really  have,  don'tcher  know.  See 
you  later,  Mr. — ah,  Tom. ' ' 

The  concsientious  Smithers  laboriously  gathered 
up  his  implements,  and  supporting  them  against  his 
legs,  took  out  his  pipe  and  lighted  it. 

"I  say,  Mr. — ah,  Tom,  old  chap,"  he  puffed,  calm- 
ly. "Rawther  clevah  idea  that,  shootin'  from  the 
hip." 

"Yes,"  acquiesced  the  sheriff.    "We  like  it." 

"Great  idea — very!"  repeated  the  Englishman 
as  he  leisurely  strolled  towards  the  tunnel. 

"So  long,  Ponsy,  old  sox,"  the  sheriff  called  after 
him. 

Smithers  stopped  at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel,  and 
gazed  reflectively  at  Horton. 

"I  say,  Mr. — ah,  Tom,  happy  thought,  that  'gov- 
ernment mule',  very!  But  I'm  not  quite  keen  on 
mules,  don'tcher  know.  Rawther  prefer  'Mary's 
little  lamb '—Ha!  Ha!" 

He  disappeared  in  the  mine,  leaving  his  two 
friends  convulsed  with  merriment. 


SMITHERS  MAKES  A  TEN-STRIKE    497 

"In  a  hurry  to  get  to  work,  old  man?"  quietly 
asked  the  sheriff,  when  they  had  composed  them- 
selves. 

"Why,  no.  I'm  never  in  a  hurry  when  you're 
around,  my  dear  friend. ' ' 

"Honors  are  easy,  Bob,"  soberly  rejoined  Horton. 
"Thought  I'd  run  up  an'  have  a  little  chat  with  ye, 
before  ye  hunted  yer  hole." 

The  sheriff  seated  himself  upon  a  stump  in  front 
of  the  cabin.  The  young  miner  threw  himself  on 
the  bench  opposite  his  friend  and  reclining  at  ease 
looked  expectantly  at  him.  Both  men  automatically 
dove  into  their  pockets  after  their  pipes,  filled  and 
lit  them. 

"See  here,  Bob,  what's  this  I  hear  about  yer  pul- 
lin'  out  o'  the  race  fer  Sheriff?"  questioned  Horton, 
solicitously,  extinguishing  his  match  and  flinging 
it  down  the  hill. 

'  *  Straight  goods,  Tom, ' '  answered  Parker,  calmly 
puffing  and  blowing  fluffy  smoke-rings  to  the  wind. 
"I  would  have  told  you  first,  only — well,  you  big- 
hearted  old  mule,  you;  I  knew  just  how  you'd  balk. 
I  haven't  forgotten  how  you  bullied  me  into  promis- 
ing to  run  against  you  when  the  boys  put  it  up  to 
me.  So  I  thought  I  'd  inform  them  first — and  get  you 
to  back  me  up. ' ' 

"The  boys?  Hell !"  fumed  the  sheriff .  "They're 
the  sorest  lot  o'  roosters  ye  ever  saw.  Why,  it  was 
them  that  sent  me  here. ' ' 

"They  sent  you  here!" 

"Sure,"  laughed  Horton.  "They  want  a  contest 
that  '11  excite  some  bettin '  interest  at  the  books.  They 
say  they  '11  win,  either  way,  which  ever  side  they  bet 
on.  Some  of  'em  '11  lose  their  bets,  but  everybody '11 
be  satisfied  with  the  sheriff-elect." 


498  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"No  use,  Tom,"  replied  the  young  miner,  firmly, 
"I've  made  up  my  mind — I'm  not  going  to  run.  My 
candidacy  was  ridiculous,  anyhow.  You're  the  man 
to  succeed  yourself  in  office,  and  you  Ve  got  to  do  it. ' ' 

The  sheriff's  face  darkened  in  dogged  determina- 
tion, and  his  jaw  set  like  a  chilled-steel  vise. 

"An'  I've  made  up  my  mind,  Mr.  Bob  Parker,  an' 
ye 're  goin'  ter  run!  Savvy?  If  ye  don't  I'll  arrest 
ye  fer — well,  fer  treason.  D'ye  s'pose  I  wanter  sit 
in  another  game  o'  political  solitaire  like  the  last 
election?  If  you  don't  run,  Jeff  Peters  will,  an'  ye 
know  what  I  think  o'  him." 

"Jeff  Peters!  A  fine  chance  he'd  have  against 
you,"  snorted  Parker,  derisively. 

"Sure,  I  know,"  admitted  Horton,  "but  that  ain't 
the  point.  I  want  ter  show  the  boys  a  new  kind  o' 
campaignin'.  I  want  a  contest,  an'  I  want  a  feller 
like  you  on  the  other  side  o'  the  table.  As  there 
ain't  any  other  feller  in  Deadwood  that  just  suits 
my  ideas,  why  it's  up  ter  you,  Bob— an'  I'm  bettin' 
ye '11  lick  me,  too.  Ye  needn't  quit  minin'  either, 
fer  I'll  take  your  job  off'n  yer  hands  when  ye  take 
office — share  an'  share  alike,  as  ter  the  minin' — an' 
you  can  grub-stake  me  out  o'  yer  salary,  if  it  comes 
ter  a  show  down." 

"But,  Tom,"  protested  his  friend,  "I  can't  run. 
You  see  I — well,  it's  absolutely  impossible." 

"Impossible  nothin'!  Why  is  it  impossible?"  de- 
manded the  sheriff. 

"Well,  you  see,  Tom.  I—" 

"Oh,  spit  'er  out,  Bob!" 

"I'm  going  to  leave  Deadwood,  old  man,"  the 
young  miner  blurted  out  in  desperation. 

Horton  jumped  to  his  feet  as  if  stung,  and  stared 
blankly  at  him. 


SMITHERS  MAKES  A  TEN-STRIKE    499 

"Ye 're  goin'  ter  leave  Deadwood!"  he  finally  ex- 
claimed. ''You!  Say  that  again — an'  say  it  slow." 

"I'm  in  dead  earnest,  Tom." 

"Well,  I'll  be  d d!  For  the  love  o'  Mike! 

What  for?" 

The  young  miner  rose  to  his  feet  and  going  to 
Horton  laid  an  affectionate  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Tom,  he  said,  slowly,  "there  are  some  things 
I  can't  talk  over  with  anyone — even  with  you,  my 
best  friend.  Matters  have  so  shaped  themselves 
that  I  must  get  out  of  the  Hills,  and  at  once. ' ' 

"  'Must'  is  an  ugly  word,  Bob.  D'ye  need  some 
more  dough?  If  ye  do,  the  sheriff's  still  drawin' 
down  some  unearned  spondulix  that  ain't  exactly 
workin'  nights." 

"No,  Tom;  thank  you  just  the  same,"  replied 
Parker,  appreciatively,  "I'll  have  enough  for  bare 
necessaries  in  the  future,  thanks  to  my  new  partner 
— and  you  know  my  habits. ' ' 

"What's  up  then,  Bob,  are  ye  losin'  confidence  in 
that  mine  ?  If  ye  are,  why  there 's  plenty  other  places 
in  the  Hills  where  a  feller  can  drive  a  tunnel,  ye 
know. ' ' 

' '  Confidence ! ' '  exclaimed  Parker — ' '  Confidence ! 
Believe  me,  Tom  Horton,  if  a  man  can't  make  a  ten- 
strike  in  that  hole,  sooner  or  later,  he  'd  better  give 
up  the  Black  Hills  as  a  bad  job.  Tom — I  know.  I'm 
not  mining  by  guess,  pot  luck  or  instinct. ' ' 

"Then  what  the  deuce  are  ye  quittin'  fer?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  quit  the  mining  game.  I've 
given  Smithers  an  interest,  as  you  know,  and  I'll 
leave  somebody  to  help  him.  He's  honest,  a  hard 
worker  and,  jesting  aside,  he's  slowly  but  surely 
learning  the  rudiments  of  the  game.  Besides,  any- 


500  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

body  who  tries  to  jump  claim  on  him  will  get  a  taste 
of  British  bulldog,  I'll  guarantee  that." 

During  this  speech  the  sheriff  looked  his  friend 
fixedly  in  the  eye. 

"Look  here,  Bob,"  he  said,  skeptically,  "what 
sort  of  a  deal  are  ye  framin'  up?  Just  give  me  a 
pointer,  so  I  can  set  in  the  game." 

"I've  told  you  all  there  is  to  tell." 

"Not  by  a  damned  sight  ye  hain't! — an'  I  ain't 
laughin'  when  I  say  it,  neither,"  doggedly  opposed 
the  sheriff.  ' l  Come  across,  now ! ' ' 

The  young  miner  returned  to  the  bench,  deject- 
edly threw  himself  upon  it,  and  resumed  his  smoking. 

"No  use,  Tom,"  he  expostulated,  shaking  his  head, 
"you  can't  even  get  me  mad  enough  to  talk  back." 

"Then  there  must  be  something  serious  in  the 
wind,  sure  enough,"  persisted  the  sheriff.  "Come, 
let  go — an'  get  down  ter  brass  tacks." 

Horton  scratched  a  match  on  his  trousers  and 
with  great  deliberation  lit  his  pipe  and  puffed  away 
at  it  like  a  steam  engine  laboring  up  a  grade. 

"Say,  Bob,"  he  went  on,  looking  away  from  his 
friend  and  towards  the  mine. 

Parker  raised  his  head  and  looked  inquiringly 
at  him. 

"Yes?" 

Horton 's  face  plainly  showed  his  anxiety,  but  he 
puffed  away  like  mad  at  his  pipe. 

"No  bad  news  from  Noo  York,  I  hope?"  he  asked, 
between  puffs. 

"From  New  York!"  ejaculated  the  astonished 
young  miner.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

'  *  Why,  I  thought  p  'raps  you  'd  heard  somethin '  that 
— that  ye  sort  o'  wanted  ter  talk  over  with — with 
old  Tom,  you  know." 


SMITHERS  MAKES  A  TEN-STEIKE    501 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Parker  restrained  an 
expression  of  astonishment. 

"I  don't  quite  get  you,  Tom." 

"Ye  don't,  eh?  Well,  when  a  sick  man  needs 
strong  doses  I  b'lieve  in  givin'  'em,  an'  givin'  'em 
d  -  d  quick,  so  —  " 

The  young  man  looked  in  apprehensive  expectan- 
cy at  his  friend,  who,  without  looking  up,  was  pat- 
ting down  with  his  forefinger  the  smouldering  con- 
tents of  his  pipe. 

"Say,  Bob,"  asked  Horton,  quietly,  "inquirin' 
as  a  private  citizen  an'  a  personal  friend,  did  you 
really  kill  that  Dago?" 

Parker  started  up  as  if  impelled  by  a  spring,  and 
confronted  his  friend,  who  immediately  faced  about 
and  awaited  his  answer. 

"Good  God,  Tom!  —  then  you  know.  Atherton 
has—" 

"Yes,  Tom  Horton  knows,  my  dear  boy  —  but  he 
hain't  told  the  sheriff  yet." 

The  young  miner  tottered  back  to  the  bench  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

'  '  Face  the  music,  Bob  !  '  '  commanded  Horton,  with 
a  business-like  ring  in  his  voice.  "Did  —  you  —  kill  — 
that—  Dago?" 

Parker  excitedly  sprang  to  his  feet  and  with  flash- 
ing, indignant  eyes  faced  him. 

"Heavens,  man!    Do  you  think  I  —  ?" 

'  '  Sh—  h  !  '  '  cautioned  Horton.  *  *  Don  't  talk  so  loud. 
The  sheriff  might  hear  you." 

The  young  man  calmed  himself  and  went  on  quiet- 

ly. 

*  '  Tom,  I  'm  as  innocent  as  you  are.  '  ' 
Alludin'  ter  that  partic'lar  shootin',  o'  course," 


" 


502  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

grinned  the  sheriff,  satirically,  knocking  the  ashes 
from  his  pipe  and  rising. 

1 '  That  sounds  mighty  good,  my  boy.  Say  it  again, 
an'  say  it  slow.  Did — you — kill — that — Dago?" 

"No,  Tom — so  help  me  God!"  replied  the  young 
miner,  earnestly  and  with  deep  emotion.  "I  was 
the  victim  of  a  conspiracy.  You  see — " 

Horton,  with  his  face  beaming  ecstatically,  joy- 
fully grabbed  his  friend  by  both  shoulders  and  shook 
him  until  he  tore  several  buttons  from  his  shirt. 

"Never  mind  the  yarn!"  he  cut  in,  delightedly. 
*  *  Some  other  time  '11  do  f  er  that.  Ye  didn  't  do  it,  an ' 
that's  enough  joy  fer  the  present.  Tom  Horton 
won 't  have  ter  ask  the  sheriff  ter  let  ye  break  away, 
an'  fire  blank  ca'tridges  at  ye  while  ye 're  doin'  it." 

"So,"  commented  Parker,  bitterly,  "Atherton  al- 
ready has  begun  his  dirty  work,  has  he  t  I  suppose 
by  this  time  the  whole  town  knows  the  story." 

The  sheriff's  lip  curled  contemptuously,  and  there 
was  a  steely  glitter  in  his  dark  eyes. 

"Don't  ye  ever  believe  it,  my  boy,"  he  said, 
grimly,  "I  accident 'ly  heard  that  newspaper  feller, 
Gordon,  tellin'  the  story  to  that  damned  skunk,  Ath- 
erton, an'  I  butted  in.  I  don't  think  they'll  shoot 
their  mouths  off  none — I  told  'em  just  where  they'd 
get  off  if  they  did." 

Parker  was  thrilled  through  and  through  by  the 
loyalty  and  manliness  of  his  friend. 

"And  you  protected  me  without  knowing  whether 
I  was  guilty  or  not?" 

Horton 's  face  expanded  in  a  cavernous  grin,  and 
he  nodded  affirmatively. 

"Yep — Tom  Horton  didn't  care  a  cuss  whether  ye 
was  guilty  or  not — I  don't  know  how  the  sheriff 
would  ha'  acted.  Anyhow,"  he  chuckled,  "them 


SMITHEES  MAKES  A  TEN-STEIKE    503 

stiffs  won 't  blab.   If  they  do,  the  sheriff  may  have  ter 
arrest  me  fer  violent  conduct." 
"Ah!  but  I'm  not  so  sure  about  Atherton." 
"What  d'ye  mean?    Has  that  skulkin'  coyote  shot 
off  his  mouth?" 

"Not  where  it  will  hurt  any,  Tom,  so  let's  not 
talk  about  that.  But,  my  friend,  you  can  see  plainly 
that  I '11  have  to  go." 

"Go  nothin'!"  opposed  Horton,  contumaciously, 
"ye '11  stay  right  here,  that's  what  ye '11  do!  Noo 
York's  a  long  way  off,  an'  they'll  have  a  monkey  an' 
parrot  time  a-gettin  ye.  Savvy?  You're  goin'  ter 
be  elected  Sheriff,  hear  me  talkin',  an'  if  they  notify 
the  new  sheriff  ter  collar  Bob  Parker,  why  he  an' 
his  friend  Tom,  an'  the  rest  o'  the  boys '11  give  'em 
one  peach  of  a  run  fer  their  money.  Besides,  if  ye 
stand  pat,  somethin'  may  happen  ter  set  things  right. 
There 's  a  whole  lot  o '  things  turns  up  in  this  world 
besides  people's  toes." 

The  young  miner  fervently  clasped  his  friend's 
hand. 

"Tom,"  he  ejaculated,  huskily,  "you're  the  best 
and  bravest  fellow  in  the  whole  wide  world ! ' ' 

"Nope,"  contradicted  Horton,  shaking  his  leonine 
head  deprecatingly,  "just  the  friend  o'  the  best  feller 
in  the  world,  that's  all." 

"Yes,  and  what  sort  of  a  hound  would  I  be  to 
drag  you  into  my  troubles?"  exclaimed  Parker,  de- 
cisively. "I  won't  do  it,  Tom!  I'm  going  to  leave. 
It's  the  only  decent  thing  to  do.  And  by  the  way," 
he  asked,  gloomily,  "you  don't  want  to  run  against 
Jeff  Peters — how  about  running  against  a  jail-bird? 
I  am  going  to  hike  out  and  give  you  a  clear  field; 
that 'sail  there  is  to  it." 


504  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

The  sheriff  resumed  his  seat  upon  the  stump  and 
painstakingly  refilled  his  pipe. 

' '  See,  here,  Bob, ' '  he  said,  hesitatingly  and  with  ev- 
ident embarrassment,  "you — you — Well,"  he  blurt- 
ed, in  sheer  desperation,  "you're  in  wrong  all 
around!  There's  somethin'  else  besides  yer  mine 
and  the  election  that  oughter  make  ye  stand  behind 
yer  guns." 

"Something  else!    What  do  you  mean,  Tom?" 

The  sheriff  touched  a  match  to  his  pipe  and  with 
calm  deliberation  began  smoking. 

"Miss  Weatherson,"  he  rejoined,  ostentatiously 
puffing  smoke  rings  in  rapid  succession  and  narrow- 
ly scrutinizing  his  friend's  face. 

Miss  Weatherson!"  exclaimed  the  astonished 
Parker,  "why, — what — ?" 

"Come,  Bob!  quit  yer  stallin',"  the  sheriff  inter- 
rupted, quietly.  "You  an'  me  ain't  kids;  we're 
grown  men — an'  good  friends,  an'  we  might  as  well 
get  down  ter  cases.  That  girl 's  in  love  with  ye,  an ' 
you  know  it,  Bob  Parker,  unless  ye  're  as  big  a  fool  as 
— as  I've  been,  an'  you're  in  love  with  her,  an'  she 
knows  it. ' ' 

"Has  she  ever  said  so?"  evaded  Parker. 

"No,  but  a  blamed  fool  can  see — sometimes.  Even 
that  yeller  pup  of  a  pencil-pusher,  Gordon,  got  onter 
the  situation  before  he'd  been  in  town  twenty-four 
hours.  The  whole  town  was  onter  you  an'  the  girl 
an' — an'  me,  long  before." 

"Then,  can't  you  see,  Tom,  that  I  must  leave  Dead- 
wood?  What  right  have  I,  a  social  pariah,  even  to 
think  of  a  girl  like  her?  Let  me  go,  Tom,  and — and 
— let  me  give  you  your  chance.  Education  is  not  all. 
The  artificial  refinements  of  life  are  not  all.  True 
manhood  and  womanhood  are  greater  than  social 


SMITHERS  MAKES  A  TEN-STRIKE    505 

frills  and  intellectual  Dead  Sea  fruit  that  fools  call 
culture.  She  and  I  both  have  learned  that.  Take 
your  chance,  Tom,"  he  entreated.  "It's  due  you — 
and  due  her." 

1 1  Ferget  it,  Bob !  I  'm  clean  off  the  slate.  I  hain  't 
got  even  a  look  in, ' '  answered  the  obdurate  Horton. 
Ye 're  goin'  ter  stay  an'  take  your  chance.  Ye 're 
innocent  o'  that  Dago  business,  an'  anyhow,  what 
Miss  Weatherson  don 't  know,  won 't  hurt  her  none. ' ' 

"But  she  does  know,  Tom,"  quietly  replied  the 
young  miner. 

"What!"  roared  the  sheriff,  wrathfully,  leaping 
to  his  feet  and  instinctively  putting  his  hand  to  the 
butt  of  his  .44.  "Has  that  sneak,  Atherton — ?" 

"Yes,"  calmly  interposed  the  other,  "but  he  was 
a  little  late  with  his  story — I  already  had  told  her." 

Horton  collapsed  back  on  the  stump  in  limp  and 
helpless  amazement. 

' « You ! "  he  sputtered,  '  *  you  told  her  ?  Well— I  'm 
— d d!" 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  Tom.  We  came  to  an  under- 
standing about — well,  about  the  way  we  felt  towards 
each  other.  I  had  to  be  a  man  and  tell  her  my 
story." 

"Well?"  said  Horton,  sitting  up  straight  and  anx- 
iously awaiting  the  answer. 

"She  has  faith  in  my  innocence,"  was  the  proud 
reply. 

"Then  what  the  devil  d'ye  want  ter  leave  Dead- 
wood  for,  if  everything's  on  the  level  with  her,  an' 
it  hain't  changed  her  none?" 

"Because  Atherton  saw  her  later,  and  also  told  her 
that  I  was  an  escaped  convict  and  wanted  in  the 
east,"  rejoined  Parker,  his  face  reflecting  the  ten- 
sity of  his  emotions.  "When  she  learned  that  Ath- 


506  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

erton  knew  my  story  she — well,  she  agreed  with  me, 
that  I  must  leave  the  Hills. ' ' 

Horton  slowly  rose  to  his  feet,  pugnaciously 
squared  his  broad  shoulders,  expanded  his  chest  and 
tightened  his  belt  another  hole. 

"Hate  ter  disagree  with  a  lady,  Bob,"  he  said, 
deliberately,  his  eyes  flashing  wickedly  and  his  voice 
ringing  like  highly-tempered  steel,  "but  I'm  a-goin' 
ter  do  it,  just  this  once.  If  you  try  to  get  away  I  '11 
slap  ye  in  the  calaboose.  My  business  is  ter  keep  an 
eye  on  desperadoes  like  you,  an'  I'm  a-goin  ter  do 
it.  Ye  're  under  arrest  an '  on  parole.  D  'ye  get  me  I ' ' 
Parker  silently  wrung  his  friend's  hand  for  a 
moment,  not  daring  to  trust  himself  to  speak. 

"Tom  Horton!"  he  finally  ejaculated,  "you're  a 
wonder !  and  I  '11  show  you  that  I  'm  game.  I  'm  going 
to  stick." 

"That's  a  little  more  like  it,  Bob." 
Hardly  had  the  sheriff  uttered  these  words  when 
Miss  Weather  son  and  Ellen  came  into  view  down  the 
trail. 

"Hello!"  he  exclaimed,  "speakin'  o'  angels,  look 
who's  comin'  up  the  trail." 

The  ladies  were  completely  winded  when  they  came 
to  the  top  of  the  ascent,  and  stopped  for  a  moment 
to  recover  their  breaths,  meanwhile  waving  their 
hands  in  greeting  to  the  two  friends,  who  joyfully 
went  to  meet  them. 

"Have  we  surprised  some  plotting  brigands,  gen- 
tlemen?" Miss  Weatherson  laughingly  demanded. 

1 1  Surprised  f  Yes, "  admitted  Parker.  "  As  to  our 
being  brigands,  I  am  not  so  sure.  Tom  was  just 
telling  me  some  of  his  blood-curdling  adventures, 
and  I  don't  know  whether  he  is  the  ghost  of  Dick 
Turpin,  a  Eoman  gladiator  on  the  warpath,  or  the 
Baron  Miinchausen  re-incarnated." 


SMITHERS  MAKES  A  TEN-STEIKE    507 

"Ye — yes,"  stammered  Horton,  red  to  the  ears 
with  embarrassment,  "I  was  just  a  tellin'  Bob  about 
a  big  stage  hold-up  I  was  in  once." 

Parker  led  the  way  to  his  humble  abode  and 
showed  the  ladies  to  seats,  Miss  Weatherson  choos- 
ing a  stump  in  the  dooryard,  and  her  young  com- 
panion appropriating  the  bench  in  front  of  the 
cabin. 

"This  is  indeed  an  honor,  Miss  "Weatherson," 
said  the  young  miner,  warmly. 

At  this  Ellen  sat  up  very  straight  and  pouted 
as  prettily  as  only  a  little  Irish  lass  could. 

Parker  noted  the  young  girl's  affectation  of  ruf- 
fled dignity  and  hastened  to  make  amends. 

"And  Miss  McGinnis,"  he  laughed,  bowing  pro- 
foundly. 

"I  presume  that  I  ought  to  explain  our  visit," 
remarked  the  school-teacher,  mischievously.  "Ellen 
suddenly  has  developed  an  interest  in  mineralogy, 
and  as  it  is  Saturday  and  there  is  no  school,  I'm 
chaperoning  her  in  her  investigations." 

Ellen's  eyes  gave  signs  of  what  might  have  been 
an  embarrassing  retort,  and  Miss  Weatherson  took 
her  cue  with  great  celerity. 

"And  she  is  reciprocating,"  admitted  the  teacher. 

'  *  Say,  Bob, ' '  suggested  the  sheriff,  with  a  knowing 
chuckle,  "I  guess  it's  up  ter  me  ter  crawl  inter  that 
black  hole  in  the  ground  an'  capture  a  real  live, 
blue-blooded  mineral  hunter  fer  the  ladies." 

Horton  started  towards  the  mine,  but  just  at  that 
moment  Smithers,  with  a  broken  pick  in  one  hand 
and  a  huge  piece  of  ore  in  the  other,  appeared  at 
the  mouth  of  the  tunnel.  He  stood  blinking  at  the  sun 
for  a  moment  and  then  came  dawdling  towards  the 
group. 


508  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Here  he  comes  now!"  whispered  Parker,  in  an 
aside.  Let's  surprise  him.  Hide  yourselves,  la- 
dies!" 

They  instantly  sought  places  of  concealment,  Miss 
Weatherson  dodging  behind  the  shack  and  Ellen 
rushing  into  the  cabin,  from  which  she  peeped  at  her 
friends  through  the  crack  of  the  half-open  door. 

Smithers  ambled  up,  carrying  the  broken  pick  and 
gingerly  holding  the  lump  of  rock. 

"Fine  luck !— what  1"  he  lamented,  "I've  broken 
me  bloomin '  pick !  My  word !  We  've  got  a  blawsted 
iron  mine,  what?  Look  at  this  piece  of  rock!  It's 
as  hard  as  flint,  it  really  is,  don'tcher  know!" 

The  ladies  peered  from  their  places  of  conceal- 
ment, quivering  with  barely  repressed  merriment. 

With  admonishing  finger  on  lip,  Parker  cautioned 
them  not  to  betray  their  presence. 

"Well,"  he  said,  jestingly,  "I'm  glad  you've  at 
least  struck  something  besides  gravel  and  plain 
quartz,  so  don't  complain  of  hard  luck.  Let  me  see 
your  find, ' '  and  he  reached  for  the  specimen. 

The  young  miner  casually  glanced  at  the  piece 
of  rock  and  gave  a  start  of  astonishment. 

"Good  Lord!  Tom!"  he  yelled,  excitedly;  "look 
at  this!" 

"Holy  smoke!"  cried  Horton,  the  instant  his  eye 
rested  on  the  specimen. 

Parker  grabbed  his  partner  by  the  arm  with  a 
fierce  clutch  that  made  him  squirm. 

"Where  did  you  get  this  stuff?"  he  demanded. 

"I  uncovered  a  beastly  ledge,"  drawled  Smithers, 
with  exasperating  slowness.  "I  was  diggin'  around 
it  an'  accidentally  struck  it  with  me  pick'  an'  broke 
the  blawsted— " 

Parker  let  go  of  the  wondering  Englishman's  arm, 


SMITHERS  MAKES  A  TEN-STEIKE    509 

dashed  madly  for  the  tunnel  and  disappeared  in 
the  darkness  of  the  mine. 

Smithers  looked  blankly  after  his  partner,  and  as 
the  latter  was  swallowed  up  in  the  depths  of  the  tun- 
nel, dropped  the  broken  pick,  took  out  his  briar, 
filled  and  lit  it  and  calmly  began  smoking. 

' 'Excitable  chap,  that — very,"  he  remarked,  non- 
chalantly. 

"Excitable!"  exclaimed  the  sheriff,  brandishing 
the  specimen,  "D'ye  know  what  ye've  struck,  ye 
chump?  Free  millin'  ore  that'll  show  a  cool  thous- 
and t'  the  ton,  if  it'll  show  a  cent!" 

"Really,  now!"  drawled  the  other,  seating  him- 
self on  the  stump  and  smoking  as  coolly  as  if 
things  mundane  interested  him  not  at  all.  "Does 
there  happen  to  be  any  gold  in  it,  d'ye  think?" 

' '  Gold  in  it !  Gold  in  it ! "  gasped  the  other. « '  Why 
you  d ?" 

Suddenly  remembering  the  proximity  of  the  la- 
dies, who  had  remained  concealed  during  the  enact- 
ment of  the  little  comedy  drama,  Horton  suppressed 
with  his  hand  the  justifiable  profanity  that  was  im- 
minent. 

Parker  reappeared  at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel 
with  several  more  pieces  of  the  ore  in  his  hands  and 
wildly  tore  back  to  his  friends.  Rushing  up  to  Hor- 
ton the  over-joyed  miner  violently  shook  him  by 
the  shoulders  as  if  he  were  a  rag  doll  in  the  paws 
of  a  grizzly  bear. 

"We've  struck  it  at  last,  old  man!  I  knew  it  was 
there,  somewhere!"  he  shouted,  letting  go  of  the 
sheriff  and  throwing  his  arms  around  Smithers. 
"Wake  up,  you  lobster!"  he  yelled  in  his  partner's 
ear;  "you've  struck  the  mother  lode!" 

"Beg  pawdon,  but  you're  rawther  excited,  you 


510  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

know.  You've  knocked  me  bloomin'  pipe  out  of  me 
mouth." 

Smithers  calmly  disengaged  himself  from  Par- 
ker's embrace,  picked  up  his  pipe,  relit  it  and  asked, 
languidly. 

"What  was  it  I  hit,  Mr.  er— partner?" 

'  *  The  mother  lode,  you  chunk  of  inanimate  proto- 
plasm, you!" 

"Really,  now!  But  I  didn't  mean  to  hit  her — 
what?  Was  she  hurt  much?" 

"Isn't  he  the  limit,  Tom?"  despairingly  exclaimed 
the  young  miner. 

"Ellen!"  he  called.  "See  if  you  can't  wake  up 
Smithers;  he's  in  a  trance." 

Miss  Weatherson  and  her  protege  now  revealed 
themselves  and  the  Englishman  stared  at  them  in 
characteristically  mild  astonishment.  He  rose  from 
the  stump  in  extreme  deliberation  and  ambled  to 
meet  them. 

"My  word!  If  here  isn't  Miss  Ellen!— an'  Miss 
Weatherson,"  he  added,  bowing  gallantly. 

"I  sincerely  congratulate  you  on  your  good  for- 
tune, Mr.  Smithers,"  said  the  school-teacher,  warm- 
ly, shaking  his  hand. 

"And  you  too,  dear,"  she  said  to  the  young  girl, 
putting  her  arm  around  her. 

"Really,  now;  I  don't  quite — "  began  Smithers, 
plainly  obtuse. 

"Of  course  you  don't,  you  blamed  tenderfoot!" 
hopelessly  interjected  his  partner. 

"But  I  say  now,  Mr.,  er — partner — I'm  no  tender- 
foot, don'tcher  know." 

* '  Oh,  yes  you  are, '  rawther ', ' '  exclaimed  Ellen  with 
a  laugh,  grasping  him  by  the  hand  and  dragging  him 
to  a  seat  beside  her  on  the  bench,  where  they  soon  be- 
came engaged  in  a  conversation  that  was  animated 


SMITHEES  MAKES  A  TEN-STRIKE    511 

on  one  side,  at  least,  and  doubtless  very  interesting 
to  both. 

Horton  noted  the  actions  of  the  pair  and  chuckled 
softly  as  he  expertly  weighed  the  piece  of  ore  in  his 
hand. 

1  'Say,  Bob,"  he  remarked,  "I  wonder  if  this  stuff 
won't  bring  England  and  Ireland  somewhat  closer 
together?" 

"  'Bawther',"  replied  his  friend,  dryly.  Mrs. 
McGinnis  probably  will  break  her  record  by  not 
quarreling  with  the  mother  lode — which  will  be  pret- 
ty good  behavior,  considering  the  sex  of  both." 

"No  jokes  at  the  expense  of  our  sex,  please,"  in- 
terposed Miss  Weatherson,  merrily,  "and  be  espec- 
ially careful  what  you  say  about  Mrs.  Mac. — She 
and  I  have  formed  an  offensive  and  defensive  alli- 
ance against  mere  man." 

"You  little  traitor!"  muttered  Parker  in  her  pret- 
ty ear. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

SMITHERS   MAKES   A  NEAR-BULL 's-EYE 

There  never  was  a  jar  of  perfectly  good  ointment 
but  that  a  fly  landed  in  it.  Rarely  does  humanity 
enjoy  happiness  for  long  without  a  discordant  note 
creeping  in.  The  devil  always  finds  willing  hands 
to  do  his  work,  and  his  specialty  is  discords. 

Bob  Parker  and  his  friends  were  but  fairly 
launched  in  their  pleasant  occupation  of  mutual  con- 
gratulations and  plans  for  the  future — of  which 
latter  there  naturally  were  many,  commingled  with 
rosy  day-dreams  that  remained  half -formed  and  un- 
expressed— when  Tom  Horton  chanced  to  look  up 
and  saw  a  man  standing  in  an  attitude  of  uncertainty 
a  few  steps  away  down  the  trail.  To  his  astonish- 
ment he  recognized  the  newspaper  correspondent, 
Gordon. 

Noting  that  he  had  been  seen,  the  young  fellow 
hesitatingly  came  up  to  the  party  and  embarrassed- 
ly,  but  gracefully,  raised  his  hat. 

"Beg  your  pardon  if — if  I  have  intruded, "  he 
stammered — "I  was  looking  for — for  Mr.  Horton." 

"Well,  young  feller,"  said  that  person,  icily,  "as 
I'm  the  man  ye 're  lookin'  fer,  ye 're  at  the  end  o'  yer 
prospectin ',  I  reckon.  What  can  I  do  for  ye  ? " 

"I  wanted  to  see  you  about  the  conversation  we 
had  the  other  evening  at  the  hotel." 

"All,  right,"  snapped  Horton,  abruptly,  "blaze 


A  NEAR  BULL  'S-EYE  513 

"But — "  Gordon  hesitated,  reddening  up  and  look- 
ing doubtfully  at  the  rest  of  the  party. 

"It's  all  in  the  family,  so  cut  loose,"  said  Horton, 
with  quick  comprehension,  "An'  see  that  ye  talk 
mighty  durned  straight, ' '  he  added  meaningly,  with 
just  a  shade  of  promise  of  dire  results  if  the  young 
fellow  should  prove  to  be  anything  but  "straight." 

This  aroused  the  reporter.  He  drew  himself  up 
with  a  dignified  air  and  his  eyes  shone  in  a  way  that 
distinctly  appealed  to  the  sheriff. 

"That's  what  I'm  here  for,  sir,"  he  flashed,  spirit- 
edly. 

"All  right,  straight  it  is,  then,"  the  sheriff  bluntly 
responded. 

"I  want  you  to  know  that  I'm  not  really  a  cad, 
Mr.  Horton,"  the  young  man  went  on  earnestly. 
"I'm  here  to  tell  you  that  I'm  heartily  ashamed  of 
my  part  in  that  transaction  and — " 

"Spoken  like  a  man!"  the  sheriff  broke  in,  giving 
Gordon  a  vigorous  hand-shake.  *  *  Go  ahead  with  yer 
yarn,  young  feller. ' ' 

The  reporter  again  looked  questioningly  at  Parker 
and  the  ladies. 

"But,"  he  objected,  doubtfully,  "I  really  shouldn't 
like  to— " 

Parker  interrupted  by  coming  forward  and  coolly 
facing  him. 

"Go  on,  sir,"  he  said,  calmly.  "I  know  all  about 
your  conversation  with  Atherton,  and  also  Mr.  Hor- 
ton's  part  in  it — and  Miss  Weatherson  knows  my 
story.  What  that  yellow  hound,  Atherton,  didn't 
tell  her,  I  did,  so  you  can  be  quite  at  ease. ' ' 

This  was  a  hard  facer  for  the  newspaper  man. 

What!— Atherton  told  Miss—?" 

"Miss  Weatherson?    Yes." 

Gordon's  jaws  came  together  viciously,  and  the 


514  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN  , 

expression  of  Ms  eyes  boded  ill  for  his  quondam 
friend  and  co-plotter. 

"The  infernal  scoundrel!"  he  exclaimed  vindic- 
tively, between  his  clenched  teeth. 

"Move  we  make  it  unanimous!"  cried  the  sheriff, 
approvingly.  "Ye 're  makin'  a  bully  good  start, 
young  feller.  Ease  up  on  the  bit  and  sock  in  the 
spurs!" 

The  correspondent  manfully  went  on  with  his  ex- 
planation and  apology. 

"I  just  wanted  to  say  I'm  mighty  sorry  I  ever 
told  Atherton  that  story.  The  newspaper  instinct, 
fool  thoughtlessness  and  a  mistaken  sense  of  what  I 
owed  the  man  for — for — " 

"Yes,  I  heard  all  about  that  on  the  eyenin'  afore- 
said," Horton  generously  hastened  to  interpose. 

The  young  fellow's  eyes  beamed  his  gratitude  as 
he  continued: 

1  *  So  much  by  way  of  apology.  Now,  I  'm  willing  to 
do  all  I  can  to  square  myself.  I — well,  I  look  at 
things  a  little  bit  differently  since  I  got  into  this 
western  atmosphere,  and — " 

"An'  a  man-killer  don't  look  quite  so  bad  as  he 
used  ter,  eh?"  sententiously  interjected  the  sheriff. 

"W — why,  I  wouldn't  put  it  just — just  that  way, 
sir." 

"Put  it  any  way  you  like,"  said  Parker,  bluntly, 
"and  don't  lose  your  prejudice  against  man-killers. 
I'll  not  take  it  as  personal,  for  I'm  not  in  that  class." 

The  young  fellow  gazed  bewilderedly  at  him. 

"Oh,  wake  up,  Gordon!"  impatiently  continued 
the  miner,  "I  didn't  kill  that  Italian." 

' '  But — but  you  were — ' ' 

"Convicted?  Yes,  and  I  was  sent  to  the  pen — and 
broke  jail,  but  I  was  innocent  all  the  same.  A  job 


A  NEAR  BULL'S-EYE  515 

was  put  up  on  me  by  Bull  Hennessy — and  he  land- 
ed me." 

"Bull  Hennessy?" 

"Yes,  Bull  Hennessy.  It's  a  long  story,  but  I'll 
tell  it  to  you  later,  if  you  care  to  hear  it.  Briefly, 
Hennessy  was  jealous  of  me,  and  without  reason. 
He  hired  a  thug,  Butch  Harris,  to  get  me.  The 
thug  joined  the  construction  gang  on  a  job  on  the 
Central,  of  which  I  was  the  engineer,  intending 
to  do  me  in  the  usual  way.  The  strike  came 
on  and  he  framed  up  something  safer.  He  made 
a  bunch  of  our  Italian  laborers  drunk  and 
they  set  to  fighting.  I  rushed  in  to  quell  the  disturb- 
ance and  seeing  that  practically  all  the  men  were 
armed,  I  felt  compelled  to  draw  my  own  revolver. 
It  accidentally  went  off  in  the  mixup,  the  bullet  bor- 
ing a  hole  in  the  atmosphere,  and  striking  nothing 
elbe,  so  far  as  I  am  aware.  A  man  was  killed  during 
the  fight ;  Butch  Harris  swore  the  murder  onto  me ; 
the  Guineas  backed  him  up — and  I  went  up  the  river. 
How  I  escaped,  you  saw  in  the  newspapers.  You 
may  have  written  it  up  yourself,  for  all  I  know. ' ' 

"Great  heavens!  Can  that  be  true?"  cried  the 
now  thoroughly  amazed  reporter. 

"Which  the  same  ain't  a  very  perlite  question, 
my  esteemed  young  friend!"  growled  the  sheriff, 
belligerently.  "Ye  can  bet  yer  life  it's  true — an'  I 
stand  behind  it,  right  on  the  flat  o '  both  feet ! ' ' 

Gordon  deliberated  for  a  moment,  looking  thought- 
fully at  Parker. 

"I  think  I  can  see  a  way  to  make  amends  and  set 
matters  straight,  Mr. — er,  Parker,  he  remarked, 
slowly.  "One  good  newspaper  man  with  a  police 
reporter  training  who  goes  after  facts,  is  worth  a 
dozen  detectives — even  clever  ones.  I'm  going  to 
get  your  case  cleared  up — or  bust." 


516  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Parker  dubiously  shook  his  head. 

"But  how?"  hopefully  chorused  the  others. 

"I'm  going  back  to  New  York  as  soon  as  the  Lord, 
the  devil,  or  whoever  presides  over  the  destinies  of 
newspaper  men,  will  let  me,  and  try  to  beat  Ather- 
ton's  little  game.  I'm  not  sure,  but  I  suspect  he 
already  has  written  to  the  police  authorities.  What 
I'll  dig  up  in  the  way  of  evidence,  and  what  I'll  do 
to  Boss  Hennessy'll  be  a  plenty.  I  may  lose  my 
job,  but  if  I  land  the  stuff  I'm  after,  I'll  be  able  to 
tell  even  the  New  York  Herald  to  go  to — " 

He  caught  himself  just  in  time. 

"Sing  Sing,"  interjected  Parker,  glumly. 

"'See  here,  boy,  d'ye  mean  it?"  demanded  Horton, 
seizing  the  young  fellow  by  both  shoulders  and  look- 
ing searchingly  into  his  eyes. 

"Surest  thing  you  know,  Mr.  Horton." 

"You're  a  brick,  Gordon!"  exclaimed  Parker. 

"Yes,  an'  he  ain't  a-goin'  ter  be  thrown  out  among 
the  cbats,'  either,"  the  sheriff  remarked,  reassuring- 
ly. "He  needn't  worry  about  a  job  as  long  as  he's 
representin'  the — what's  the  name  o'  that  mine  over 
there,  Bob?" 

"The  'Josephine',"  laughed  his  friend,  with  sud- 
den inspiration,  glancing  affectionately  at  Miss 
Weatherson. 

"Righto!  You've  got  brains,  Bob, — an'  some 
nerve,"  grinned  Horton,  in  pleasant  acquiescence. 

"I  reckon  the  new  assignment  '11  pan  out  about 
as  well  as  any  he  ever  tackled,  eh,  Bob?"  he  con- 
tinued, playfully  poking  the  young  miner  in  the 
short  ribs  with  his  thumb. 

"I  think  it  will,  Tom,  if  my  ribs  hold  out,"  gasped 
his  friend,  with  a  wince. 

"Meanwhile,"  volunteered  the  sheriff,  "seein'  as 
how  the  mill  hain  't  ground  out  much  color  from  the 


A  NEAE  BULL'S-EYE  517 

Josephine  yet,  I'll  grub-stake  our  special  police-re- 
porter-correspondent-sleuth— if  he  needs  it." 

Miss  Weatherson,  who  had  been  eagerly  drinking 
in  the  conversation,  went  to  Gordon  and  pressed  his 
hands  in  heart-felt  appreciation. 

"  You  don't  know  what  your  interest  means  to — to 
Mr.  Parker  and — " 

"I  understand  perfectly,  Miss  Weatherson,"  in- 
terjected the  reporter,  with  delicate  comprehension 
and  evident  warmth  and  sincerity. 

"Meet  me  at  the  hotel  this  evening  and  bring  Mr. 
Horton  with  you,"  he  said,  turning  to  Parker,  "I 
want  to  get  the  full  details  of  your  case  and  map  out 
my  campaign.  I  shall  leave  on  the  morning  stage." 

The  correspondent  bade  everybody  adieu  and 
started  town-ward.  He  had  gone  only  a  little  way 
when  he  stopped  short  and,  after  keenly  glancing 
down  the  trail,  gave  a  sharp  exclamation,  suddenly 
sprang  back  and  turning  rejoined  the  party. 

"And  the  devil  came  also !"  he  exclaimed.  "Here 
comes  Atherton ! ' ' 

"Atherton!"  cried  Parker  in  intense  excitement, 
"hide  yourselves,  everybody!  Get  into  the  cabin, 
Tom!" 

"He  musn't  see  me  here!"  said  Gordon,  "I'll 
have  to  cut  stick ! ' '  and  he  plunged  down  the  hillside 
in  front  of  the  cabin  and  was  soon  lost  to  sight 
among  the  trees  and  rocks. 

Smithers  languidly  rose  from  the  stump  where  he 
was  sitting  beside  his  innamorata  and,  with  great 
deliberation,  ensconsced  himself  behind  the  luckless 
tree  which  absorbed  so  much  of  his  time  of  mornings. 
Miss  Weatherson  disappeared  behind  the  corner  6f 
the  cabin,  and  Ellen  hurried  into  the  cabin,  the  sher- 
iff following  her  with  rather  incautious  slowness. 


518  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Horton  stopped  at  the  partially  open  door  and  un- 
certainly turned  to  his  friend. 

"You  may  need  the  sheriff,  Bob." 

"Don't  you  ever  believe  it,  Tom,"  replied  Parker, 
confidently. 

"Where's  yer  gim?" 

"On  the  table  in  the  cabin,  but  never  mind  the 
gun." 

"You'll  take  it  all  the  same,  my  boy." 

Horton  dove  into  the  cabin  and  raced  back  at  a 
gallop  with  the  belt  and  gun-filled  holster. 
•     "Here,  you  easy  mark,  strap  'er  on!" 

"All  right,  Tom,  if  it  makes  you  feel  any  better." 

He  quickly  fastened  the  belt  around  his  waist, 
swinging  the  gun  into  proper  position,  and  Horton, 
with  a  relieved  expression,  hurriedly  returned  to 
the  cabin,  stopping  just  within  and  anxiously  peek- 
ing back  at  his  friend  from  behind  the  almost  closed 
door. 

"Don't  take  a  chance,  Bob,"  he  cautioned,  solic- 
itously. 

"Don't  worry,  old  man.  Ever  see  a  foot-ball 
game  ? ' '  returned  Parker,  dryly. 

"Yes,  once." 

"How  did  it  strike  you?" 

"Didn't  strike  me  at  all,"  chuckled  Horton,  "it 
was  them  suckers  that  was  playin'  the  game  that  got 
hit.  But  it  reminded  me  of  a  saloon  row,  a  prize 
fight,  a  wrestlin'  match  an'  a  lynchin  bee,  all  rolled 
inter  one  nasty  scrap." 

"Well,  I  once  was  half-back  on  the  Harvard 
team,  and  some  folks  thought  I  could  go  some.  Just 
let  that  fellow  start  something,  that's  all." 

"A  foot-ball  player,  eh?  God  help  Atherton!" 
laughed  the  sheriff. 

"S— sh!    Shut  the  door,  Tom.    Here  he  comes." 


A  NEAR  BULL'S-EYE  519 

Horton  closed  the  door  and  took  a  position  where, 
through  the  corner  of  the  window,  he  could  watch 
the  proceedings  from  within  the  cabin.  Parker  seat- 
ed himself  on  the  bench  beneath  the  window,  coolly 
took  out  his  knife,  picked  up  a  piece  of  rock  from 
a  pile  that  lay  near  and  began  examining  particles 
which  he  dug  from  its  surface,  meanwhile  humming 
a  popular  air. 

Atherton  was  on  horseback.  He  appeared  at  the 
crest  of  the  trail,  dismounted,  hitched  his  mount  to 
a  tree  and  slowly  swaggered  up  to  the  cabin.  Sud- 
denly noticing  Parker,  he  greeted  him  with  an  off- 
hand, offensive  familiarity  which  cost  that  gentle- 
man a  tremendous  effort  to  contain  himself  and  sup- 
press the  desire  to  kick  the  fellow  down  the  hill. 

1  'Hello,  Parker!" 

"Good  morning,  Atherton,"  tranquilly  responded 
the  young  miner.  "  Little  off  your  regular  beat, 
aren't  you?" 

"Never  mind  my  beat,"  retorted  the  promoter, 
with  an  insolent  air.  "I'm  here  to  talk  over  a  lit- 
tle business  with  you,  Parker." 

"  So  ?  Why  didn  't  you  call  during  business  hours  ? 
You  see,  I  loaf  forenoons  and  afternoons." 

"Indeed,"  sneered  the  visitor.  "Where  did  you 
contract  the  loafing  habit — at  the  hotel  up  the  Hud- 
son?" 

"' Hotel  up  the  Hudson?'  I  don't  quite  follow 
you." 

"What  are  you  trying  to  give  me,  Parker,"  chal- 
lenged Atherton,  leering  insultingly. 

"Nothing — yet,"  laconically  replied  the  young 
man,  yawning  widely  and  luxuriously  stretching  his 
magnificent  limbs.  *  *  Warm  day,  isn  't  it,  Atherton  T ' ' 

He  rose  and  pointedly  turning  his  back  to  his  vis- 
itor, calmly  removed  his  belt  with  its  holster  and 


520  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

gun  and  hung  them  on  a  convenient  nail  on  the  cabin 
door. 

With  malicious  satisfaction,  Atherton  watched  the 
young  man  apparently  putting  himself  at  his  mercy. 

"You  fool!"  he  contemptuously  muttered  to  him- 
self. 

Parker  returned  to  his  seat  on  the  bench  and  with 
an  ineffably  bored  expression  lit  his  pipe  and  puffed 
away  as  unconcernedly  as  though  no  enemy  was  in 
sight. 

"You  say  you  have  some  business  with  me,  Ather- 
ton?" he  yawned,  with  a  fine  show  of  indolence, 
through  the  dense  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke  in  which 
he  had  enveloped  himself. 

"Yes,  and  I'll  make  it  brief." 

"Pray  do — I'm  beginning  to  like  your  style.  Fire 
away." 

"A  certain  party  by  the  name  of  Parkyn,  is  here 
in  the  Hills, ' '  continued  the  promoter  with  unmistak- 
able malevolence.  "He's  wanted  in  New  York.  He 's 
an  escaped  murderer  from  Sing  Sing  penitentiary. 
I  want  to  give  him  a  chance  to  make  his  get-away 
from  Deadwood. ' ' 

"Yes?  That's  very  good  of  you,  I'm  sure.  The 
gentleman  ought  to  appreciate  your  friendly  inter- 
est," remarked  Parker,  urbanely,  "but  just  where 
do  I  come  in?" 

"You  know  very  well  where  you  come  in,  Mr.  Eob- 
ert — 'Parker',"  was  the  sneering  reply. 

"Ah!  I  see,  you  want  Bob  Parker  to  tell  his 
friend,  Parkyn,  to  get  out  of  your  way,"  suavely 
answered  the  young  miner. 

"Good  guess!  You're  waking  up,"  was  the  sar- 
castic rejoinder. 

Parker  rose  to  his  feet  and  tensed  his  lithe,  pow- 


A  NEAR  BULL'S-EYE  521 

erful  muscles  like  a  big  tiger-cat  getting  ready  to 
spring. 

"Yes — I'll  be  wide  awake*  in  a  minute,"  he  replied, 
ominously.  "But  suppose  Parkyn  won't  leave,  what 
then?" 

"Then  I'll  see  that  he  gets  free  transportation  to 
New  York — in  bracelets. ' ' 

Parker  took  an  aggressive  step  toward  his  visitor 
and  looked  him  straight  in  the  eye. 

"Speaking  as  the  representative  of  Robert  Par- 
kyn, Jim  Atherton,"  he  said,  coolly  and  incisively, 
"you  will  please  go  plumb — straight — to  hell!" 

"So,  you're  going  to  try  to  bluff  me  out,  eh,  Par- 
kyn?" snarled  Atherton,  viciously.  "Well,  for  a 
jail-bird  that's  hiding  like  a  frightened  rabbit,  you've 
got  your  gall  with  you.  All  right,  then,  you  can  take 
your  medicine!"  He  turned  and  started  towards 
his  horse. 

"My  word!  Rude  fellah  that,  don'tcher  know," 
commented  Smithers,  under  his  breath,  half  re- 
vealing himself  for  a  moment  from  behind  his  tree 
and  then  stepping  back  into  concealment,  from  which 
he  peered  interestedly  at  his  partner  and  the  depart- 
ing visitor. 

Parker  intercepted  Atherton,  getting  between  him 
and  the  animal,  just  as  that  worthy  was  about  to 
unhitch  his  horse. 

"What's  your  hurry,  my  philanthropic  friend?" 
sneered  the  miner,  caustically,  "I  want  to  remark 
before  we  go  any  further,  that  when  I  take  medicine, 
it  will  not  be  from  your  spoon,  you  contemptible 
cur!" 

' '  Say,  Atherton, ' '  he  coolly  went  on,  without  wait- 
ing for  a  reply,  "were  you  ever  man-handled?" 

"No,  and  I'm  not  going  to  be,  either." 


522  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

'  *  Oh — yes — you — are ! ' '  retorted  Parker,  with  sig- 
nificant deliberation,  drawing  closer  to  his  foe. 

Atherton  retreated  backward,  step  by  step,  the 
now  coldly-menacing  young  miner  slowly  following 
him,  until  they  again  were  in  front  of  the  shack, 
Both  men  stopped  and  warily  eyed  each  other. 

"Better  not  start  anything,  Parker,  the  weather 
is  still  warm,"  said  the  promoter,  glancing  sugges- 
tively at  the  belt  and  gun  hanging  on  the  door. 

The  young  man  noticed  the  direction  of  his  en- 
emy's glance. 

'  *  Say,  Atherton,  do  you  know  why  I  took  off  that 
gun?" 

' 'Because  you  were  a  damned  fool,"  chuckled 
Atherton,  with  a  triumphant  leer. 

"No — not  because  I  was  a  fool,  but  because  I  was 
wise — wise  to  you,  and  to  Robert  Parkyn's  best  in- 
terests. I  knew  what  was  coming — knew  I'd  be 
tempted — and  I  didn't  propose  to  take  any  chances. 
I've  had  my  lesson.  I  hate  to  kill  even  a  rattlesnake 
— that's  what  saves  you,  my  friend.  If  every  man 
could  have  a  taste  of  the  hell  I  've  gone  through,  the 
gun  factories  would  be  put  out  of  business. 

* '  But  even  going  through  a  hell  of  body  and  mind, 
hasn't  chilled  my  sporting  blood  any,  Atherton,"  he 
continued,  tensely  clenching  his  fists  and  menacingly 
stepping  closer  to  his  foe.  "What  I'm  going  to 
do  to  you  in  about  thirty  seconds  would  make  a  rail- 
road accident  look  like  a  Virginia  reel  at  a  butterfly 
ball." 

"It  would,  eh?  Two  can  play  at  that  game,  you 
damned  murderer ! ' '  snarled  Athertpn  savagely,  with 
a  backward  spring  and  going  to  his  hip  pocket  for 
his  gun. 

Parker  was  on  the  fellow  like  a  flash,  grappled 
with  him,  and  catching  his  pistol  hand  twisted  the 


A  NEAE  BULL'S-EYE  523 

weapon  from  his  grasp,  threw  it  down  the  hill  into 
the  brush  and  hurled  the  assassin  to  the  ground  so 
hard  that  the  fall  knocked  the  wind  completely  out 
of  him. 

At  this  point  Smithers  stepped  out  of  ambush  and 
stood  gaping  at  the  scene. 

"Most  extraor 'nary,  really!"  he  drawled. 

Like  a  true  sportsman,  Parker  stood  back  a  pace 
and  waited  for  his  enemy  to  rise. 

"Humph!"  he  ejaculated,  with  satirical  contempt; 
"It's  a  shame  to  take  the  money!" 

Atherton  managed  to  pull  himself  together  and 
scrambled  to  his  feet,  puffing  and  blowing  like  an 
angry  porpoise. 

"I'll  fix  you  for  that,  you  damned  jail-bird!"  he 
shouted. 

Drawing  a  formidable  looking  bowie  from  his  in- 
side coat  pocket,  he  rushed  like  a  maniac  at  Parker, 
with  the  keen,  glittering  blade  uplifted  to  strike — 
and  to  kill! 

Miss  Weatherson  gave  a  scream,  and  emerging 
from  her  place  of  concealment  around  the  corner 
of  the  cabin,  stood  gazing  at  the  encounter  as  if 
helplessly  fascinated. 

Horton  left  his  place  of  observation  at  the  cabin 
window  and  rushed  frantically  out  of  the  door,  draw- 
ing his  gun  as  he  ran. 

He  was  about  to  fire  at  the  assassin,  when  there 
was  a  loud  report  and  the  ruffan  crumpled  up  and 
fell  like  a  tree  under  the  ax,  with  a  ball  through  his 
chest ! 

Looking  in  the  direction  from  which  the  shot  was 
fired,  the  party  saw  the  doughty  Smithers,  nursing 
his  fingers  and  gazing  curiously  at  his  .44,  which 
was  lying  smoking  on  the  ground  some  distance 


524  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

away,  where  it  had  been  hurled  by  the  recoil  of  the 
shot  and  his  involuntary  muscular  effort. 

Ellen,  who  had  come  to  the  cabin  door  and  had 
been  standing  there  almost  paralyzed  with  fright, 
recovered  herself  and  rushing  to  Smithers  threw 
her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"Oh,  Ponsy!  Ponsy!  she  snivelled,  hysterically, 
burying  her  retrousse  nose  in  the  miner's  coarse 
and  by  no  means  spotless  shirt. 

Miss  Weatherson  hurried  to  her  lover,  who  was 
gazing  in  dumb  astonishment  at  Smithers. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Parker!  Robert!  are  you  hurt?"  she 
cried,  overwhelmed  with  anxiety  and  oblivious  to 
everything  save  her  concern  for  his  safety. 

"No,  dear,"  he  whispered,  reassuringly,  "and  if 
I  were,  this  would  cure  me,"  and  he  clasped  her  in 
his  arms. 

Horton  saw  and  looked  away  for  a  brief  instant. 
There  were  some  things  that  even  he,  lion-hearted 
though  he  was,  could  not  face  off-hand.  Deep  down 
in  the  rugged,  honest  man's  soul  of  him,  he  knew  that 
true  mating  never  could  be  one—sided  and  that  all 
was  as  it  should  have  been.  He  loved  Bob  Parker, 
and  there  was  no  envy,  no  bitterness  in  his  heart. 
And  yet — well,  it  was  only  human  to  regret  that  the 
fates  had  not  decreed  that  he  should  be  in  his 
friend's  shoes. 

Smithers  disengaged  Ellen's  energetic  clasp  from 
his  neck,  put  one  arm  protectingly  around  her  waist, 
and  tranquilly  surveyed  the  field  of  battle. 

"Most  extraor'nary! — what?"  he  commented 
wonderingly,  looking  alternately  at  his  still  smoking 
revolver  and  his  professor  of  small-arms  practice — 
the  sheriff. 

Horton  replaced  his  gun  in  its  holster  and  went 
to  the  wounded  man,  who  was  supporting  himself 


A  NEAR  BULL'S-EYE  525 

on  one  hand  and  painfully  gasping  for  breath,  the 
air  whistling  in  and  out  of  the  hole  in  his  lung  and 
whipping  the  blood  into  crimson  froth. 

He  silently  looked  Atherton  over  and  then  turned 
his  gaze  on  Smithers. 

"Well,  I'll  bed— " 

He  bethought  himself  of  the  fair  listeners  and 
smothered  the  impending  profanity. 

Returning  his  attention  to  the  wounded  man  he 
remarked,  dryly: 

"Went  lookin'  fer  it,  didn't  ye?" 

He  turned  to  Miss  "Weatherson : 

"Have  ye  a  fresh  handkerchief  about  ye,  ma'am? 
I  wanter  cork  up  the  hole  in  this  party's  bellows — 
it'sleakin'." 

The  young  woman  handed  him  a  filmy,  lace-bord- 
ered handkerchief,  and  he  applied  it  to  the  wound  in 
Atherton 's  chest,  binding  it  on  with  his  own  neck- 
erchief and  pocket  bandana. 

"There,"  he  said,  grimly,  "that'll  hold  enough  o' 
yer  black  blood  in  yer  derned  carcass  ter  keep  ye 
a-goin'  till  Doc.  Jones  can  do  a  better  job.  I  wanter 
save  ye  fer  a  terrible  example." 

Smithers  left  his  Dulcinea,  picked  up  his  gun  and 
came  toward  the  sheriff,  who  met  him  half  way. 

"The  bloomin'  blighter!"  exclaimed  the  English- 
man, looking  towards  his  prostrate  quarry — then 
after  a  careful  inspection  of  the  .44  that  he  was  gin- 
gerly carrying,  he  remarked,  "Rippin'  good  idea 
that,  Mr.  Horton,  shootin'  from  the  hip — very!" 

Horton  slapped  his  pupil  heartily  on  the  back. 

"Didn't  I  tell  ye  to  call  me  'Tom,'  ye  blood-thirs- 
ty man-eater?" 

Parker  joined  them  and  affectionately  grasped 
his  partner  by  the  hand. 

"Smithers,    my    friend,"    he    said,    gratefully, 


526  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

" you've  made  me  rich  and  saved  my  life — all  in  one 
day.  That's  a  pretty  good  score,  old  man,  and  I'll 
not  forget  it." 

"An'  don't  forget  the  near-bull's-eye  he  just  made. 
Pretty  good  for  a  tenderfoot,  eh,  Smithers?"  joshed 
Horton. 

The  Englishman  drew  himself  up  with  offended 
dignity  and  registered  a  protest  which  was  rather 
emphatic — for  him. 

"Call  me  Ponsy,  if  you  don't  mind,  Mr. — er,  Tom. 
An'  I'm  not  quite  keen  on  that  tenderfoot  stuff, 
don'tcher  know." 

"Eight  you  are,  Ponsy,  old  sox!  But  put  up  yer 
blawsted  gun — game's  up,"  laughed  the  sheriff. 

"My  word,"  said  Smithers,  from  sheer  force  of 
habit,  it's  so  bloomin'  hot  it  might  bally  well  burn 
me  trousers ! — what  I ' ' 

Then  with  sudden  recollection  the  redoubtable  gun- 
man put  his  trusty  .44  back  in  its  holster,  amid  the 
affectionate  smiles  of  everybody  save  the  miserable 
victim  of  his  expert  marksmanship. 

Thanks  to  a  naturally  good  constitution  and  the 
wonderful,  health-giving  air  of  the  hill  country,  Ath- 
erton  speedily  recovered  from  his  wound.  This  des- 
pite the  rough  nursing  provided  by  certain  citizens 
of  Deadwood,  who  magnanimously  volunteered  to 
aid  the  efforts  of  a  young  army  surgeon  who  chanced 
to  be  stationed  with  his  command  in  the  Hills,  and 
in  whose  hands  the  wounded  man  was  fortunate 
enough  to  be  placed — thereby  escaping  "Doc"  Jones. 

Horton  watched  the  prisoner  and  the  progress  of 
the  case  very  carefully  and  as  soon  as  the  surgeon  in 
charge  notified  him  that  his  patient  could  stand  a  stage 
ride,  had  a  rather  interesting  interview  with  the  con- 
valescent, and  another  with  some  of  the  more  tur- 


A  NEAR  BULL'S-EYE  527 

bulent  spirits  of  the  town  who  had  expressed  an  ar- 
dent desire  to  lynch  the  prisoner  as  soon  as  he  was 
well  enough  to  appreciate  the  finer  points  of  the 
proposed  ceremony.  The  sheriff's  remarks  in  both 
instances  were  sufficiently  convincing  to  enable  him 
to  carry  his  point.  His  end  of  the  conversation, 
with  Atherton  especially,  was  very  comprehensible 
and  as  brief  as  was  consistent  with  clearness.  As 
Horton  himself  expressed  it,  he  "told  the  infernal 
scoundrel  jest  where  he  got  off,  took  the  freedom  o' 
the  city  away  from  him  an'  told  him  ter  pull  his 
freight,  muy  pronto." 

Parker  did  not  wish  to  have  his  would-be  slayer 
punished  further,  and  so,  as  a  logical  outcome  of 
the  interview,  just  three  weeks  after  Deadwood's 
tacitly  acknowledged  militant  wonder,  Smithers,  had 
used  Atherton  as  a  target  and  perforated  his  lung, 
the  promoter  slunk  into  an  obscure  corner  of  the 
morning  stage,  and  departed  from  Deadwood,  still 
sore  in  body  and  full  of  the  gall  and  wormwood  of 
defeat  and  the  humiliation  of  knowing  that  he  was 
hated  and  despised  by  everybody  in  town. 

When  he  finally  had  shaken  the  dust  of  the  Black 
Hills  off  his  feet — which  time-worn  expression  was 
in  hi&  case  literal  and  descriptive  rather  than  met- 
aphoric — Atherton  promised  himself  the  most  dire 
revenge  upon  his  foes  through  the  discomfiture  of 
the  person  that  he  hated  most  of  all,  Bob  Parker. 

The  bumping  and  shaking  of  the  stiff-springed 
stage  did  not  assuage  Atherton 's  feelings,  nor  take 
the  edge  off  his  keen  desire  to  get  even,  for  the^  jar 
painfully  reminded  him  that  he  still  was  on  the  list 
of  the  maimed  and  physically  incapacitated. 

When,  half -dead,  he  had  laboriously  clambered  up- 
on the  train  at  Bismarck,  en  route  for  the  east,  he 
vengefully  shook  his  fist  in  the  direction  of  the  Black 


528  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Hills  and  rabidly  vowed  that  he  would  one  day  settle 
his  score  in  a  manner  that  should  be  very  discomfort- 
ing to  the  enemies  he  had  left  behind. 

That  the  disgruntled  promoter's  direful  intentions 
were  as  sincere  as  his  resentment  was  bitter,  was  des- 
tined to  develop  later,  in  a  manner  that  should  leave 
no  room  for  doubt  that  he  had  done  his  best  to  even 
up  matters  with  his  enemies. 

Parker  and  Smithers  went  steadily  on  with  the 
development  of  their  mine,  the  results  proving  that 
the  enthusiasm  with  which  the  first  specimens  of  ore 
from  the  mother  lode  were  greeted  was  more  than 
justified. 

They  put  themselves  in  touch  with  certain  finan- 
cial interests  in  the  east,  and  soon  were  faced  with 
the  necessity  of  deciding  whether  they  would  sell  the 
mine  outright,  or  incorporate  it  and,  retaining  a  con- 
trolling interest,  continue  to  work  it  in  behalf  of 
the  company. 

The  latter  plan  especially  appealed  to  the  two 
partners  because,  for  obvious  reasons,  they  desired 
to  remain  in  the  Black  Hills.  It  finally  was  decided 
that  the  matter  of  incorporation  should  be  seriously 
taken  up  as  soon  as  the  work  of  development  had 
proceeded  far  enough  to  show  advantageously  the 
alluring  prospect  to  parties  whom  they  might  at- 
tempt to  interest  in  the  venture. 

By  mutual  agreement  Miss  Weatherson  and  Par- 
ker saw  little  of  each  other,  the  latter  still  enter- 
tained the  same  pessimistic  views  regarding  their 
relations  that  he  had  expressed  to  her  at  the  school- 
house  on  the  afternoon  when  he  and  his  arch-enemy, 
Atherton,  told  her  his  story.  The  young  miner's 
aversion  to  any  definite  plans  regarding  their  future 
was  enhanced  by  the  knowledge  that,  figuratively,  he 


A  NEAE  BULL'S-EYE  529 

was  sitting  upon  a  keg  of  powder  which  was  likely  to 
blow  up  at  any  minute. 

Parker  really  felt  that  Gordon  would  do  his  best 
to  disentangle  the  web  in  which  fate  had  enmeshed 
him  the  day  he  had  accepted  the  position  on  the  rail- 
road construction  work  at  A  .  .  .  .,  but  he  could 
not  shake  off  the  gloomy  foreboding  that  the  corres- 
pondent was  destined  to  fail. 

The  young  man  wisely  concluded  that  hard  work 
was  the  only  remedy  for  his  moody  impressions  of 
the  future,  hence  the  town  saw  very  little  of  him  for 
some  time.  He  barely  kept  in  touch  with  his  friends 
and  admirers,  and  that  was  all.  As  for  the  impend- 
ing campaign,  it  was  sure  to  be  satisfactory  to  him, 
whatever  the  outcome.  He  therefore  ignored  it  al- 
together until  a  few  days  before  the  election,  when 
he  felt  that  he  must  show  his  friends,  by  doing  some 
speaking,  that  he  appreciated  their  interest  in  him. 

Miss  Weatherson  went  serenely  on  with  her  teach- 
ing, endearing  herself  more  and  more  each  day  to 
her  pupils  and  their  parents.  She,  too,  was  an  en- 
thusiastic exponent  of  the  gospel  of  work,  but  unlike 
the  object  of  her  affections,  the  horizon  of  her  hopes 
was  illumed  with  rose  tints  and  the  promise  of  golden 
hours  of  happiness  throughout  a  long  life  of  congen- 
ial companionship  and  mutual  love.  Believing  im- 
plicitly in  her  lover's  innocence  and  in  the  logic  of 
events,  the  young  woman  really  was  happy  in  look- 
ing forward  to  the  good  things  which,  she  felt  sure, 
the  fates  were  in  duty  bound  eventually  to  bestow 
upon  them. 

It  is  thus  that  rosy  optimism  and  serene — and 
alas !  often  misplaced — confidence  in  the  final  vindi- 
cation of  right  and  justice  ever  wait  upon  youth. 

Supported  by  feminine  intuition,  backed  by  the 
faith  inspired  by  inexperience  with  the  world  of  hu- 


530  TEUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

man  duplicity  and  self-interested  machination,  the 
young  woman  never  for  a  moment  doubted  that  Gor- 
don would  succeed  in  his  mission  in  the  east  and, 
as  the  days  rolled  on,  looked  f  orward  with  increasing 
eagerness  to  his  return. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

AN  ELECTION   AND  A  LOST  NUMBER 

Election  day  finally  arrived  and  dawned  as  clear 
and  crisp  as  is  the  wont  of  well-behaved  early  No- 
vember days  in  the  Black  Hills. 

From  the  interest  and  excitement  displayed  by  the 
citizens  of  Deadwood,  one  might  have  inferred  that 
momentous  issues  were  at  stake,  instead  of  an  elec- 
tion in  which  the  public  was  bound  to  be  pleased,  no 
matter  which  candidate  was  successful.  But  the  pop- 
ulation of  the  town  was  a  decidedly  sporty  one,  and 
Horton  stated  the  truth  when  he  stated  that  it  wanted 
a  fair  betting  proposition  in  politics  as  well  as  in  ev- 
erything else  that  could  be  construed  as  a  game. 

The  two  friends  and  rivals  entered  into  the  spirit 
of  the  thing  and  were  on  hand  bright  and  early, 
making  superfluous  stump  speeches  to  delighted  aud- 
iences and  thoroughly  enjoying  the  amusing  situa- 
tion. 

They  followed  each  other  around  and  alternated 
in  their  speeches  between  eulogizing  the  opposition 
candidate  and  "roasting"  him  good-naturedly  as 
one  whose  election  inevitably  would  ruin  the  coun- 
try, cause  the  gold  to  ooze  out  of  the  hills  and  roll 
away  into  some  seismic  chasm,  or  precipitate  an  up- 
rising of  hostile  Indians  and  the  storming  of  the 
sheriff's  office.  At  every  telling  point  and  bit  of 


532  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

repartee  the  crowd  convulsed  itself  with  glee  or 
frantically  applauded  the  speaker. 

Horton  wittily  admitted  his  opponent's  pulchri- 
tude, but  offset  this  by  laying  particular  stress  on  his 
obvious  inexperience  and  the  alleged  fact  that  his 
feet  were  still  tender,  and  of  a  pink  color.  He  was 
sure  of  their  color,  for  had  he  not  seen  them,  many, 
many  times? 

Parker,  on  the  other  hand,  called  especial  attention 
to  Horton 's  decrepitude  and  consequent  physical  de- 
bility, a  point  which  resulted  in  a  challenge  to  a 
wrestling  bout,  to  be  pulled  off  after  the  election  was 
over — each  man  disclaiming  a  desire  to  maim  a  per- 
fectly good  opposing  candidate  before  the  result  had 
been  announced.  The  young  miner  further  asserted 
that  his  opponent's  mental  faculties  surely  must  be 
failing,  or  he  never  would  have  entered  a  race  in 
which  he  was  sure  to  be  beaten. 

The  crowd  yelled  itself  hoarse  at  these  sallies  and 
fairly  howled  for  more. 

Save  for  a  few  bibulous  enthusiasts  who  evidenced 
a  desire  to  " shoot  up"  the  town,  which  desire  was 
speedily  repressed  by  the  deputies  whom  the  sheriff 
had  appointed  for  the  day,  the  election  was  devoid  of 
unpleasantness  and  as  interesting  and  amusing  a 
farce  as  American  politics  ever  produced — which  is 
much  to  say,  for  farce-comedy  is  the  dominant  char- 
acteristic of  politics  in  our  beloved  country. 

Nearly  everybody  had  knocked  off  work  for  the 
day  and  as  the  male  population  was  not  large  enough 
to  congest  the  single  polling  booth  at  the  postoffice, 
the  balloting  practically  was  over  long  before  noon. 

The  majority  of  the  men  voted  bright  and  early 
in  the  morning  and  then  proceeded  to  make  a  holiday 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   533 

«* 

of  it,  which  consisted  in  loafing  about  in  what  was  by 
common  consent  the  "public  square,"  and  making 
frequent  excursions  into  the  neighboring  saloons, 
McGinnis's  bar  getting,  as  usual,  the  lion's  share 
of  the  patronage. 

The  public  square  was  merely  the  space  at  the 
intersection  of  the  main  street  of  the  town  with  a 
smaller  street. 

On  the  corner  stood  the  Miners'  Rest,  with  its 
alluring  invitation  to  all  and  sundry  to  partake  of 
the  solid  comforts  and  liquid  refreshments  within, 
emblazoned  across  its  front  in  enormous  letters  in 
black  and  white,  evidently  done  by  a  'prentice  hand, 
who  made  up  in  enthusiasm  and  liberality  in  the  use 
of  his  colors  what  he  obviously  lacked  in  artistic  tech- 
nic  and  accuracy  of  detail. 

Flanking  the  hotel  on  one  side  was  a  large  general 
store  and  a  butcher's  shop. 

On  the  opposite  corner  of  the  intersecting  street 
was  a  .drug  store,  the  proprietor  of  which  practiced 
"medicine  and  surgery"  when  he  was  not  selling 
pain-killers,  spavin  cures,  kidney-plasters,  quinine, 
bandages,  paint  or  putty. 

Opposite  the  hotel  was  the  postoffice,  and  adjoining 
the  latter  the  office  of  that  inevitable  and  useful  fac- 
tor of  pioneer  civilization  in  America,  the  Wells- 
Fargo  Express  Company.  The  stage  and  express 
offices  were  one. 

In  front  of  the  postoffice  was  a  great  wooden 
horse-trough,  the  use  of  which  was  divided  between 
thirsty  equines  and  certain  waggish  individuals  who 
were  wont  to  add  to  the  gayety  of  nations  by  sousing 
in  it  such  "bums"  as  were  not  especially  noted  for 
skill  in  gunnery  or  knife  play. 


534  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

On  several  occasions  this  form  of  pleasantry  had 
been  attended  by  unfortunate  mistakes  in  the  selec- 
tion of  bums,  which  errors  of  judgment  had  added 
little  to  the  reputation  and  safety  of  the  water-cure, 
but  had  done  much  to  establish  the  surgical  fame  of 
old  "Doc."  Jones,  the  proprietor  of  the  corner  drug 
store  across  the  way. 

Adjoining  the  express  office  was  a  hardware  store, 
which  ran  the  saloons  a  close  second  in  popularity. 
Guns,  big  and  little,  ammunition  of  all  kinds,  knives 
for  belt  and  pocket,  and  belts  and  holsters  vied  with 
picks,  shovels  and  blasting  powder  in  attracting  the 
attention  of  the  citizens  and  bidding  for  patronage. 

Horses  in  abundance  and  variety,  among  which 
were  numerous  specimens  of  that  distinctive  variety 
of  quadruped  known  as  the  "cow  pony,"  constantly 
were  to  be  seen  tethered  in  front  of  the  express 
and  post-offices.  The  neighing  and  stamping  of 
these  animals  was  intermingled  with  the  raucous, 
plaintive  song  of  that  indispensable  aid  to  the  moun- 
taineer, euphoniously  yclept  the  "Rocky  Mountain 
Canary,"  the  burro.  A  herd  of  these  humble  little 
burden-bearers  nearly  always  was  to  be  seen  in  the 
public  square,  patiently  awaiting  the  enormous  loads 
of  supplies  with  which  they  were  destined  to  be  load- 
ed on  the  return  trip  to  the  mines,  or  to  the  towns 
further  up  in  the  Hills. 

The  crowd  in  the  square  on  the  day  of  the  election 
was  large  and  motley  and  the  assortment  of  animals 
tethered  all  up  and  down  the  street  was  corres- 
pondingly numerous  and  varied. 

Slinking  about  among  the  horses  or  whining  and 
smelling  at  the  heels  of  the  men,  was  a  number  of 
mangy-looking  curs,  with  an  occasional  dog  of  nobler 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   535 

lineage,  who  endeavored  to  exhibit  a  dignity  which 
was  with  difficulty  preserved  amid  the  yelps  and 
snappings  of  his  humbler  brethren. 

The  men  who  stood  about  in  groups  or  leisurely 
strolled  in  and  out  of  the  various  public  houses,  were 
of  all  sorts  and  conditions.  The  majority  of  the 
crowd  was  composed  of  miners,  but  there  was  a 
sprinkling  of  cow-boys  and  a  few  well-dressed  men 
who  evidently  were  of  the  class  that  preys  upon  the 
man  who  earns  his  bread  by  the  " sweat  of  his  pick," 
defrauding  him  by  the  ''short  card"  or  the  " pro- 
motion" method. 

A  party  of  gaily-bedecked  Indians  added  color  and 
picturesqueness  to  the  scene.  They  phlegmatically 
stood  aloof  and  with  expressionless  curiosity  sur- 
veyed the  crowd,  talking  but  little  in  their  odd  gutter- 
als  and  expressing  their  feelings  by  an  occasional 
grunt. 

The  rival  candidates  continued  their  speech-mak- 
ing until  dinner-time.  Horton  had  been  orating 
from  an  upturned  whisky  barrel  in  front  of  the  post- 
office.  His  political  opponent  was  haranguing  a 
crowd  of  his  own  from  the  steps  of  the  Miners'  Best 
on  the  other  side  of  the  street. 

In  the  midst  of  the  speeches,  Sam  appeared  at  the 
door  of  the  hotel  and  hammered  noisily  on  a  huge 
gong. 

"Hello,  Tom!  The  race  problem  is  too  much  for 
me!"  cried  Parker  at  his  rival  across  the  square. 
"I  can't  talk  against  Sam  and  that  gong,  so  let's 
call  it  a  draw ! ' ' 

"Ah — ha!  You  quitter,  you!"  Horton  shouted 
back  at  him.  "You're  hungry,  that's  what  ails 
you!" 

"Very  well,  I'll  admit  it,  so  let  it  go  at  that,  but 
let's  call  it  off." 


536  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"Want  ter  take  another  fall  out  o'  me  after  din- 
ner, Bob?" 

"No,  you  can  have  the  rest  of  the  votes." 

"Hear  that,  boys?"  yelled  the  sheriff.  "Bob's  re- 
signed in  my  favor ! ' ' 

The  crowd  howled  itself  hoarse  and  somebody 
yelled : 

"All  right,  Sheriff,  we'll  see  you  later.  Be  sure 
and  be  on  hand  for  the  returns. ' ' 

"Five  o'clock,  boys,"  Parker  called  out,  "and 
don't  let  Tom  get  at  that  ballot  box." 

' '  Never  fear,  you  fellers ! ' '  Horton  countered ;  "  I  '11 
bet  Bob '11  have  it  in  the  hotel  safe  inside  o'  twen- 
ty minutes!" 

The  people  laughed  good-naturedly  and  dispersed, 
after  vociferously  and  impartially  cheering  both  can- 
didates. 

A  good-sized  crowd  had  gathered  and  the  square 
was  pretty  well  filled,  long  before  the  hour  appoint- 
ed for  announcing  the  results  of  the  election,  and  by 
five  o'clock  practically  the  entire  town  was  on  hand 
to  receive  the  returns. 

The  women  turned  out  in  force  to  hear  proclaimed 
the  winner  of  the  unique  contest.  Both  candidates 
were  popular  with  them,  for  the  incumbent  of  the 
office  of  Sheriff  had  proved  a  most  capable  and  sen- 
sible official,  and  his  rival,  although  a  comparatively 
recent  addition  to  the  social  atmosphere  of  Dead- 
wood,  had  won  the  friendship  and  esteem  of 
everybody  in  the  place.  Frontier  towns  are  quick 
accurately  to  estimate  the  worth  of  new-comers  and 
classify  them,  and  where  the  town  and  country  them- 
selves are  new,  the  "Oldest  Inhabitant"  fad  is  not 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   537 

a  prominent  feature  of  either  the  social  or  the  polit- 
ical life. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  explain  why  the  parties 
who  controlled  the  machinery  of  the  election  delayed 
the  returns  until  so  late  in  the  afternoon.  The  local 
offices — of  which  that  of  Sheriff  was  considered  the 
most  important,  and  certainly  was  the  only  one  which 
had  excited  any  interest — were  few  and  the  voting 
population  comparatively  scanty.  Possibly  the  po- 
litical powers  in  the  crude  little  mining  town  desired 
to  impress  the  public  with  their  own  importance  and 
the  solemnity  due  the  occasion.  Perhaps,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  parties  aforesaid  were  merely  lazy. 

While  the  crowd  was  good-humoredly  awaiting  the 
returns,  quite  a  number  of  the  men  occupied  their 
time  in  placing  bets  on  their  favorite  candidate. 
Betting  was  spirited  and  ran  high.  The  frontiers- 
man rarely  is  a  " piker"  when  it  comes  to  a  betting 
proposition. 

So  interested  was  everybody  in  the  betting  and 
the  quips  and  sallies  of  those  participating,  that 
the  stage  rolled  in  and  discharged  its  passengers 
without  attracting  especial  attention,  although  there 
was  a  larger  influx  of  strangers  than  usual. 

A  little  after  five  o'clock  the  election  " commis- 
sion," composed  of  Dixie  and  two  of  his  fellow  min- 
ers, made  its  report  amid  a  volley  of  enthusiastic 
comments  and  gibes  from  the  crowd. 

Dixie  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  whisky  barrel  from 
which  Horton  had  been  speaking  and  in  stentorian  ac- 
cents proclaimed  the  result  of  the  election. 

The  announcement  that  Bob  Parker  had  won  by  a 
small  majority  was  received  with  such  wild  enthusi- 
asm that  the  onlooker  who  was  not  familiar  with  the 


538  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

situation  never  for  a  moment  would  have  suspected 
that  there  had  been  a  political  contest,  but  would 
have  concluded  that  the  crowd  had  gathered  merely 
for  the  purpose  of  celebrating  some  important  and 
unanimously  popular  event. 

Everybody  was  especially  pleased  by  the  narrow- 
ness of  the  margin  by  which  the  successful  candidate 
won.  The  nearness  to  a  tie  vote  soothed  the  feelings 
of  those  who  had  lost  their  bets,  merely  by  vindi- 
cating their  judgment  in  selecting  a  candidate  who 
almost  came  under  the  wire  ahead  of  the  other  fel- 
low. 

The  crowd  yelled  and  cheered  until  its  collective 
throat  was  almost  split — and  quite  dry — much  to  the 
edification  of  the  purveyors  of  liquids  in  that  vicin- 
ity, and  especially  to  the  satisfaction  of  Mr.  McGin- 
nis,  whose  business  was  more  prosperous  than  ever 
that  afternoon. 

The  only  persons  in  sight  who  were  oblivious  to 
the  prevailing  enthusiasm  were  Smithers  and  Ellen, 
who  were  sitting  on  the  hotel  veranda  engaged  in 
earnest  conversation  to  which  the  lively  and  viva- 
cious little  Irish  lass  was  the  chief  and  at  times 
sole  contributor,  the  Englishman  looking  his  adora- 
tion in  lieu  of  speaking,  thereby  saving  his  proto- 
plasmic poise. 

Having  cast  his  vote  for  his  partner — keenly  re- 
gretting that  he  could  not  vote  for  both  candidates — 
Smithers'  lackadaisical  interest  in  Black  Hills  poli- 
tics temporarily  had  subsided,  his  attention  revert- 
ing to  the  only  thing  that  interested  him  when  he  was 
off  duty  at  the  mine—his  love  affair. 

Dixie  was  about  to  jump  down  from  his  improvised 
pedestal,  when  Parker  came  in  sight  down  the  cross 
street. 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   539 

"There  comes  the  new  sheriff,  boys!"  cried  the 
miner;  "Let's  cut  loose  and  give  him  the  grand 
razoo ! ' ' 

As  the  winner  of  the  election  swung  into  full  view, 
the  crowd  surely  did  "cut  loose"  with  a  will  and 
greeted  him  with  wild  whoops  and  cheers. 

Smithers  woke  up  from  his  blissful  trance  and 
ambled  to  the  edge  of  the  veranda,  followed  by  El- 
len. 

"Rawther  slow,  Dixie,  old  chap,  don'tcher  know," 
he  complained.  Let's  give  him  a  ripper! — what?" 

' '  You  bet ! ' '  replied  the  miner.  * '  Once  more,  boys ! 
Three  cheers  fer  Bob  Parker,  an'  don't  save  yer 
blasted  lungs !" 

The  cheers  were  given  with  a  will. 

"Tiger!"  yelled  Dixie. 

The  tiger  was  forthcoming  and  fairly  shook  the 
rickety  buildings  surrounding  the  square. 

Smithers  evidently  was  satisfied  with  the  results 
for  he  complacently  remarked : 

1 1  Most  extraor  'nary,  that  tiger !    Very. ' ' 

The  women  in  the  crowd  and  several  other  females 
whose  heads  were  popping  out  of  neighboring  win- 
dows added  their  quota  to  the  general  uproar  by 
clapping  their  hands.  Ellen  frantically  waved  her 
handkerchief  at  the  newly-elected  official. 

McGinnis  and  his  dusky  helper,  Sam,  came  to  the 
door  and  joined  in  the  din.  Sam  howled  like  a  fiend, 
grinning  until  the  top  of  his  head  looked  like  a 
black,  woolly  dome  floating  on  a  sea  of  ivory,  whilst 
his  boss  took  a  hand  in  directing  the  celebration. 

Coming  to  the  front  of  the  veranda,  the  Irishman 
shouted : 

"Pfwat's  the  matter  wid  Misther  Parker?" 

The  crowd  having  variously  and  with  emphasis 
assured  McGinnis  that  Bob  was  "all  right,"  "A 


540  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

1,"  a  " solid  Muldoon"  and  "No.  1,  first  chop,"  the 
hero  of  the  occasion  modestly  came  forward  and 
smilingly  acknowledged  the  ovation. 

"Thank  you,  boys." 

Amid  numerous  loud  cries  of  "Speech!  Speech! 
Parker!  Speech!"  the  sheriff-elect  passed  through 
his  noisy  admirers  and  ascended  the  hotel  steps. 

"My  friends,"  he  said,  feelingly,  "I  didn't  expect 
this  warm  reception.  If  I  had," — he  turned  to  the 
Englishman — "I  should  have  asked  my  partner  here, 
Mr.  Smithers,  to  prepare  a  speech  for  me.  He  says 
he  writes  better  English  than  I  do,  and  you  all  will 
admit  that  he  talks  it!" 

Everybody  laughed  and  applauded  this  sally, 
which  Smithers  accepted  with  due  modesty,  as  be- 
came a  recipient  of  a  compliment  that  he  himself 
believed  to  be  deserved. 

"And,  by  the  way,  boys,"  Parker  continued,  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  his  partner's  shoulder,  "if  he  hadn't 
been  as  successful  in  handling  a  gun  as  he  is  in 
developing  prospects,  today's  contest  for  the  office 
of  Sheriff  would  have  been  a  one-sided  affair." 

Smithers  was  cheered  to  the  echo. 

"I  am  not  sure,"  laughed  the  speaker,  "that  he 
would  not  have  made  a  better  sheriff  than  either 
Tom  Horton  or  myself." 

The  crowd  roared  at  this  and  gave  another  rousing 
cheer. 

"But,  after  all,"  said  Parker,  seriously,  "prepar- 
ation is  not  necessary  for  the  expression  of  senti- 
ments that  come  straight  from  the  heart.  I  came 
among  you  a  few  short  months  ago,  a  total  stranger, 
with  pink  toes  and  tender  soles — as  my  friend  Hor- 
ton would  say — and  you  people  of  the  great  west 
took  me  to  your  hearts  and  gave  me  your  confidence. 
Today  you  have  elected  me  to  the  most  important 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   541 

and  responsible  office  within  your  jurisdiction.  This 
is  a  proud  moment  for  me,  boys,  for  not  only  have 
you  done  me  honor  and  shown  the  confidence  you 
repose  in  one  who  is  almost  a  stranger  to  you,  but 
you  have  displaced  a  far  better  man  to  make  room 
for  me — " 

Here  the  crowd  interrupted  with  cheers  of  "No!" 
"No!" 

The  speaker  smiled  and  went  on. 

"Oh,  yes  you  have.  There's  only  one  Tom  Hor- 
ton,  and  you  know  it,  mighty  well,  and  if  he  hadn't 
plugged  for  me  on  the  quiet  instead  of  taking  care 
of  his  own  fences,  he'd  have  licked  me,  hands  down. 
But,  my  friends,  I  'm  going  to  try  to  make  good,  and 
with  Tom  to  advise  me,  I  hope  to  succeed." 

Parker  looked  towards  the  postoffice  and  saw  his 
friend  Horton  in  the  rear  of  the  throng,  peering  over 
the  heads  of  the  listeners  and  deprecatingly  shaking 
his  head  at  the  speaker's  complimentary  allusions 
to  himself. 

"Hello!"  shouted  Parker,  "there's  Tom,  now! 
Three  cheers  for  Tom  Horton !  Now,  altogether — 
whoop  'er  up,  boys ! ' ' 

The  salvo  of  cheers  and  a  tiger  were  given  with 
cordial  good  will  and  several  men  grabbed  Horton 
and  dragged  him,  red  and  protesting,  to  a  place  be- 
side the  sheriff-elect. 

There  was  a  loud  clamor  for  another  speech. 

"Lookee  here,  boys,"  stammered  the  embarrassed 
sheriff,  "I  ain't  no  speech-maker,  an'  I'm  goin'  ter 
be  just  a  plain  citizen  from  now  on.  I've  appointed 
Bob  ter  do  my  speakin'  fer  me,  an'  'Ponsy'  here, 
has  agreed  ter  do  my  shootin'  fer  me,  so  ye '11  ex- 
cuse me  if  I  take  a  back  seat." 

The  crowd  laughed  and  applauded  and  he  turned 
to  his  friend  and  heartily  grasped  him  by  the  hand. 


542  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

' '  Bob,  old  man,  I  'm  glad  ye  licked  me.  I  congratu- 
late ye  an'  wish  ye  success." 

"Thank  you,  Tom,"  returned  Parker,  deeply 
moved.  "With  your  help  I  hope  to  win  success. ' ' 

The  assembled  citizens  went  fairly  wild  over  this 
demonstration  of  mutual  regard  by  their  two  popu- 
lar idols  and  made  such  a  racket  that  Mrs.  McGinnis, 
who  until  then  had  been  steadfastly  attending  to  her 
household  duties  during  the  noisy  celebration,  could 
no  longer  stand  the  uproar  and  rushed  to  the  door, 
broom  in  hand. 

She  glared  angrily  at  the  crowd  for  a  moment  and 
then  ferociously  brandished  her  broom  at  everybody 
and  everything  in  general. 

"Pfwat  are  ye  noisy  divils  up  ter  now,  hey.  Yez 
do  be  actin'  loike  a  lot  o'  crazy  lunatics !  Clear  out 
o'  this!"  and  she  advanced  to  the  top  of  the  steps 
with  eyes  flashing  and  her  broom  uplifted  in  a 
manner  that  piomised  a  headache  to  anybody  who 
received  its  impact. 

"Clear  out  o>  this,  I  say,  ye  shpalpeens!"  reiter- 
ated the  angry  Amazon,  "or  Oi'll  be  afther  wallop- 
in'  the  hull  gang  o'  yez !" 

The  crowd  quieted  down  and  everybody  wore  an 
expectant  grin,  waiting  to  see  who  would  be  the 
first  unlucky  victim  of  the  militant  Irish  woman's 
onslaught. 

Horton  interposed  as  peace-maker  ex-officio  and 
approached  the  irate  woman  with  his  most  ingrati- 
ating smile  and  smoothest  manner. 

Dixie,  who  was  watching  the  performance  with 
keen  enjoyment,  gleefully  poked  his  nearest  compan- 
ion in  the  ribs. 

"Watch  Tom  get  his,"  he  whispered. 

Tom  got  "his"  and  quickly.  Mrs.  McGinnis  low- 
ered her  broom  and  witheringly  surveyed  him. 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   543 

"An'  you  too,  Tom  Horton,  bad  cess  ter  yez! 
Ye 're  the  worst  o'  the  lot — an'  may  the  divil  fly 
away  wid  yez ! ' ' 

McGinnis  laughed  behind  his  hands.  Sam  opened 
his  immense  mouth  and  was  about  to  join  in  his 
boss's  merriment,  but  caught  his  mistress's  eye 
and  thinking  better  of  it,  discreetly  shut  up  like  a 
clam  and  stood  rolling  his  eyes  until  they  appeared 
to  be  all  whites. 

"But  you  see,  Mrs.  McGinnis,"  soothed  Horton, 
"we  was  cheerin'  Bob  Parker;  he's  been  elected 
Sheriff." 

"An'  he  bate  yez!  He  bate  yez!"  she  crowed. 
' '  Glory  be  to  God !  Is  it  thrue  f ' ' 

Horton  chuckled  good-naturedly  at  the  obvious 
slam  at  his  official  prestige  and  popularity. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  he  replied,  meekly,  "it's  sure  some 
true." 

The  good  woman  triumphantly  waved  her  broom 
in  the  air,  narrowly  missing  Sam's  flat  nose. 

"Hooray!  Hooray  for  Misther  Parker!  God 
bless  him ! ' '  she  shouted. 

The  crowd  responded  ear-splittingly  and  wound  up 
with  three  cheers  and  a  tiger  for  the  lady  herself, 
much  to  her  embarrassment. 

"Ah!  g'long  wid  yer  blarney,  now,  ye  palaverin' 
divils ! ' '  she  expostulated,  retreating  in  blushing  con- 
fusion into  the  hotel. 

McGinnis  and  Sam  followed  her,  wisely  concluding 
that  there  soon  would  be  a  rush  of  business  to  attend 
to,  while  Smithers  and  Ellen  returned  to  their  love- 
making  at  the  end  of  the  veranda. 

The  crowd  dispersed,  a  number  entering  the  bar- 
room of  the  hotel  in  search  of  refreshment.  A  group 
of  a  dozen  or  so,  of  whom  Dixie  was  one,  remained 
in  front  of  the  postoffice  talking  over  the  election. 


544  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

The  sheriff  and  his  successful  rival  sat  down  for 
a  chat  on  the  hotel  steps. 

"Say,  Bob,"  grinned  Horton,  flirting  his  thumb 
in  the  direction  of  the  Englishman  and  his  sweet- 
heart, "how's  things  comin'  on  with  England  and 
the  home-rule  party?" 

"Beautifully,  Tom — Mrs.  McGinnis  snuggled  up 
to  the  mother  lode  like  a  sick  kitten  to  a  hot  brick, 
and  when  she  heard  how  Smithers  sniped  Ather- 
ton—  " 

"Just  nothin'  to  it,  eh,  Bob?" 

"I  should  say  not.  Why,  the  next  time  McGinnis 
got  gay,  she  told  him  she  wished  he'd  brace  up  and 
be  a  man — 'loike  Mr.  Smithers.'  " 

"So,  the  course  o'  true  love's  a  runnin'  smooth 
now.  When  does  the  kid  start  east  to  the  'varnish- 
in'  '  school?" 

"Humph!"  chuckled  Parker;  "ma  has  changed 
her  mind  about  that.  Ellen  is  not  going. ' ' 

"Ah!  I  see,  afraid  she'll  lose  him,  eh?"  chuckled 
the  sheriff,  comprehendingly. 

"Yes,"  assented  the  other,  adding  dryly  ,"or  the 
mother  lode. ' ' 

The  two  men  were  quietly  laughing  at  the  amusing 
situation  afforded  by  the  Englishman's  love  affair, 
when  Miss  Weatherson,  evidently  in  a  state  of  con- 
siderable agitation,  appeared  in  the  square  and  hur- 
ried towards  them. 

They  simultaneously  saw  the  young  woman  and, 
springing  to  their  feet,  hastened  to  meet  her. 

"Oh,  Robert!— Mr.  Horton!"  she  gasped,  breath- 
lessly, "I'm  so  glad  I've  found  you!  Something 
dreadful  has  happened ! ' ' 

"What  is  the  trouble?  What's  up?"  they  chor- 
used. 

"There's  a  detective  from  the  east  at  the  Prospect 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   545 

House,  and  he's  inquiring  after  you,  Mr.  Parker!" 
she  replied,  panic-stricken. 

His  face  paled  and  he  swayed  a  little. 

"A  detective  looking  for  me,  Miss  Weatherson! 
How  do  you  know  ? ' ' 

Her  eyes  suffused  with  tears,  and  she  was  the 
picture  of  despair. 

"He  came  in  on  the  afternoon  stage  and  got  to 
drinking  with  Jeff  Peters.  He  became  talkative  and 
told  Jeff  that  he  was  an  officer  of  the  law  from  New 
York  and  had  a  warrant  for  your  arrest.  Jeff's  lit- 
tle boy  heard  it,  and  meeting  me  a  few  moments 
later,  innocently  told  me  about  it!" 

Parker  took  a  deep  breath  and  calmly  faced  Hor- 
ton. 

"Well,  Tom,"  he  said,  steadily;  "it  has  come  at 
last." 

Horton  violently  clenched  his  fists  and  swore  great 
oaths  under  his  breath.  He  was  not  pleasant  to 
look  at  just  then,  and  if  a  New  York  detective  or 
two  had  confronted  him  at  that  particular  moment, 
something  serious  quite  likely  would  have  happened. 

*  *  So,  Atherton  has  beaten  us  to  it !"  he  ejaculated, 
savagely. '  *  The  next  fool  tenderfoot  I  teach  ter  shoot, 
'11  learn  exactly  where  the  bull's-eye  is,  ye  can  bet 
on  that!  But  it's  my  own  fault;  instead  o'  givin' 
that  cussed  sneak  the  twenty-four  hour  limit  ter 
git  out  o'  town,  I'd  oughter  taken  a  crack  at  him 
myself." 

Miss  Weatherson  clasped  her  hands  in  great  dis- 
tress, and  with  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks  looked 
appealingly  at  the  two  friends. 

"Oh!  What  can  we  do?"  she  implored.  "Mr. 
Gordon  will  succeed — I'm  sure  he  will!  He  must 
succeed!  Can't  that  detective  be  induced  to  leave 
Mr.  Parker  alone  until  Gordon  returns?" 


546  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

" That's  dead  easy,  Miss  Weatherson,"  replied 
Horton,  with  a  fierce  scowl  and  significantly  touching 
his  pistol  butt.  "I  think  he  can  be  induced  ter  let 
him  alone  at  least  that  long — an'  p'raps  longer. 
Don't  worry,  little  woman,  this  aggregation  o'  talent 
is  goin'  ter  stand  pat.  Whether  that  newspaper  fel- 
ler makes  good  or  not,  they'll  have  one  sweet  time 
gettin'  Bob  Parker.  It'll  take  the  whole  Noo  York 
police  force  an  'a  company  o'  regulars — an'  they'll 
have  to  whip  the  whole  town  o'  Deadwood,  at  that. 
Get — our — new — sheriff?  Sufferin  cats!  I  should 
say  not ! ' ' 

His  eye  fell  upon  Dixie,  who  was  talking  with  a 
group  of  men  a  little  distance  away,  and  he  called  to 
him. 

"I  say,  Dixie!" 

" What's  doin',  Tom,"  responded  the  miner,  join- 
ing the  party  and,  noting  their  agitation,  curiously 
eyeing  its  members. 

" There's  a  feller  down  at  the  Prospect  House — 
came  in  this  afternoon — that  say 's  he 's  a  detective — 
say's  he's  got  a  warrant  fer  Bob  Parker  for  gettin' 
a  feller  down  in  Noo  York  an'  breakin'  jail!" 

Dixie  snorted  derisively. 

' '  So  Bob  got  a  feller,  did  he  ?  "  he  commented,  sar- 
castically. " How  awful!  He'd  oughter  be  slapped 
on  the  wrist!" 

"Bob  says  it's  a  lie,"  Horton  went  on.  "Is  that 
detective  goin'  ter  get  him?" 

Dixie  mounted  the  whiskey  barrel  and  addressed 
the  gathering  of  men  in  the  square,  which  now  was 
rapidly  being  augmented  by  others  from  the  hotel 
who  had  been  attracted  by  the  commotion. 

"Friends  an'  feller,  citizens,"  orated  Dixie, 
"there's  a  'spicious  character  come  inter  town  on  the 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   547 

stage  this  afternoon  that  says  he's  a  detective  from 
Noo  York." 

1  'What's  his  lay?"  demanded  one  of  the  crowd. 

1  'He  says  he's  got  a  warrant  fer  Bob  Parker!" 

''The  h 1  he  has!"  blustered  another,  indig- 
nantly. "What  fer?" 

Dixie 's  lip  curled  with  contempt  as  he  sarcastical- 
ly answered : 

"He's  claimin'  that  Bob  got  some  tenderfoot  or 
other  down  in  Noo  York,  an'  broke  jail." 

The  townspeople  howled  in  derision. 

"He's  slanderin'  one  of  our  most  re-spected  and 
be-loved  citizens!"  continued  Dixie,  "an'  I  asks  you 
fellers  as  between  man  an'  man,  are  we  a-goin'  ter 
stand  fer  it?" 

"Where  is  he?"  demanded  several  angry  voices. 
"Where  is  the  durned  skunk?" 

"Down  ter  the  Prospect  House,"  replied  Dixie. 

A  number  of  the  men  started  down  the  street  to- 
wards the  hostelry  mentioned,  with  curses  and  im- 
precations that  promised  direful  happenings  to  the 
luckless  object  of  their  wrath  if  they  ever  succeeded 
in  rounding  him  up. 

"Hold  on,  boys!"  commanded  Dixie. 

The  angry  miners  paused  and  gave  attention. 

"Let's  do  the  thing  reg'lar,"  Dixie  went  on.  "I 
move  that  we  put  the  d — — d  lunatic  in  the  calaboose 
over  night,  an'  give  him  a  friendly  invite  ter  beat 
it  outer  town  in  the  mornin'?" 

"Sure — that  shpalpeen's  dangerous  ter  the  com- 
munity!" interjected  McGinnis  from  the  doorway, 
where  he  had  been  an  interested  listener  to  the 
miner's  harangue. 

"Ye've  heard  the  motion,  gents,"  said  Dixie.  "All 
you  fellers  that  b'lieves  in  keepin'  bad  elements 
outer  this  town  say  'Aye!'  " 


548  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

Amid  a  volley  of  explosive  "Ayes,"  the  chairman 
pro  tern  descended  from  his  improvised  rostrum  and, 
without  waiting  to  call  for  the  "Nays"  or  to  declare 
the  motion  carried,  led  the  party  of  belligerents  on 
their  mission  of  regulation  of  the  manners  of  the 
impertinent  and  slanderous  stranger. 

"Go  to  it,  boys!"  Horton  yelled  after  them.  "I 
appoint  ye  my  deputy,  Dixie.  Mind  ye,  now,  no 
gun  play !  Handle  him  legally. ' ' 

"Sure,  Tom,"  growled  Dixie,  with  a  malicious 
chuckle,  "an'  then  some!" 

A  glint  of  fire  in  the  sheriff 's  eyes  betrayed  his 
deep  satisfaction  as  he  thought  of  the  sort  of  handl- 
ing the  offender  was  likely  to  receive. 

McGinnis  and  Sam  returned  to  the  bar-room, 
chuckling  with  pleasure  as  they  pictured  to  them- 
selves what  they  were  sure  was  going  to  happen  to 
the  fellow  who  had  had  the  temerity  to  traduce  Bob 
Parker. 

Ellen  and  her  adorer,  Smithers,  still  were  billing 
and  cooing  at  the  end  of  the  veranda,  so  deeply  ab- 
sorbed in  each  other  that  they  were  blissfully  un- 
conscious of  what  was  occurring. 

As  Dixie  and  his  volunteer  posse  disappeared, 
Horton  with  grim  satisfaction  turned  to  Parker,  who, 
stunned  by  the  suddenness  with  which  his  sky  had 
become  overcast,  had  been  apathetically  observing 
the  militant  actions  of  his  friends. 

"There,"  he  snapped,  "I  reckon  that'll  hold  yer 
Noo  York  friend  fer  a  while.  What's  goin'  ter 
happen  ter  him  '11  be  a  plenty.  It'll  probably  be  my 
last  official  or  unofficial  act  as  Sheriff,  Bob,  but  I'm 
goin '  ter  go  out  in  a  blaze  o '  glory — an  'the  blaze  '11 
be  plenty  hot  enough  fer  that  damned  detective,  ye 
can  jest  bet  yer  last  ounce  on  that!" 

Parker  shook  himself  together. 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   549 

" What's  the  use,  Tom?"  he  protested,  earnestly. 
"The  game's  not  worth  the  candle.  I'd  better  make 
my  get-away  while  I  have  the  chance." 

"Think  so?  Well,  ye  ain't  got  no  chance.  If  ye 
try  ter  get  away  ternight  I'll  stop  ye,  mighty  quick, 
f  er  I  'm  still  Sheriff  o '  this  town  until  ye  're  installed 
termorrow.  If  ye  try  it  on  after  ye  take  the  oath  o ' 
office,  I'll  have  ye  impeached,  an'  imprisoned,  an' 
impounded  fer  malfeezance  in  office.  D'ye  hear?" 

* '  Tom,  you  are  incorrigible, ' '  sighed  Parker,  smil- 
ing affectionately. 

"Reckon  I  must  be,  seein'  as  how  the  word  means 
somethin'  tough,"  retorted  the  sheriff,  "but  you'll 
stay  in  Deadwood  just  the  same." 

Miss  Weatherspn  had  been  anxiously  listening  to 
what  had  been  said,  and  mentally  had  cheered  Dixie 
and  his  band  when  they  had  started  after  their  pros- 
pective victim.  As  she  gazed  after  the  regulators 
of  Deadwood 's  moral  atmosphere  there  was  a  lam- 
bent glow  in  the  depths  of  her  eyes  which  suggested 
that  there  was  in  her  bosom  not  a  little  of  the  spirit 
bequeathed  to  her  by  certain  of  her  militant  ances- 
tors, and  that  she  too  was  not  quite  in  sympathy 
with  the  man  from  New  York. 

As  the  self-constituted  posse  disappeared,  the 
young  woman  gratefully  turned  to  the  sheriff. 

"Mr.  Horton,"  she  exclaimed,  fervently,  "you're 
the  greatest  man  I  ever  knew! — excepting  one,"  she 
added  tenderly,  surreptitiously  glancing  at  Parker. 

"Speakin'  o'  your  father,  o'  course,"  rejoined 
Horton,  soberly,  but  with  twinkling  eyes. 

The  young  woman  was  rosy  with  embarrassment. 

"How  can  I — how  can  we — ever  repay  you,"  she 
asked,  in  charming  confusion. 

"Better  wait   'till  the  job's  done,"  he  laughed, 


550  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

adding  slyly  in  a  whisper  in  Ms  friend  Bob's  ear; 
' '  Ye  can  name  the  first  boy  after  his  uncle  Tom. ' ' 

"Don't  crowd  the  mourners,  old  man,"  was  the 
smilingly  whispered  reply. 

"Hello!"  exclaimed  Parker,  "Here's  Dixie  com- 
ing back.  Say,  Tom,  it  looks  to  me  as  if  that  de- 
tective had  sobered  up !" 

"Holy  smoke!  Will  ye  look  at  that?"  cried  the 
astonished  sheriff,  sizing  up  the  approaching  deputy- 
sheriff,  ex-officio,  "What  the  deuce  has  happened  to 
him?" 

Dixie,  with  his  nose  bleeding,  one  eye  blackened 
and  his  clothes  torn  and  covered  with  dirt,  slowly 
limped  through  the  crowd  of  wondering  men  who 
still  were  standing  about,  and  was  greeted  by  the 
sheriff,  who  was  having  his  own  troubles  in  smoth- 
ering a  laugh. 

"Well,  Dixie,  did  ye  get  him?" 

For  a  returning  conqueror,  the  chief  regulator 
presented  a  ludicrous  picture  as  he  wiped  the  sweat 
and  dirt  from  his  face  and  cleared  the  blood  from 
his  nose  by  several  violent  blasts  into  a  huge  red 
bandana  handkerchief. 

"Sure!"  he  snorted,  triumphantly,  with  another 
noisy  application  of  the  handkerchief  to  his  nose. 
"We  got  the  son-of-a-gun  all  right,  an'  he's  on  his 
way  ter  jail  now,  but  it  took  six  of  us  ter  do  it.  I  'm 
mighty  glad  there  was  only  one  o'  him.  An'  he 
never  even  tried  ter  pull  a  gun!  What  d'ye  think 
o'that?" 

"Member  o'  your  foot-ball  team,  Bob,  I'll  bet  a 
hat!"  muttered  Horton,  in  a  chaffing  aside  to  his 
friend. 

"He'll  cool  down  in  jail  all  right,"  said  the  sher- 
iff, consolingly,  to  Dixie. 

"Yes,"  retorted  the  miner  lugubriously,  rubbing 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBEE   551 

his  tender  nose,  "but  if  he  don't  tear  that  shaky 
old  calaboose  down  an'  vamoose  the  ranch  by  morn- 
in',  I'll  miss  my  guess." 

"All  right,  Dixie,  we'll  build  another — an'  run 
him  down  an'  put  him  in  it,  jest  ter  christen  the 
new  one. ' ' 

"But  you'll  appint  some  other  feller  on  the  deputy 
job,  unless  ye  give  me  leave  ter  bend  a  gun  on  his 
nut,"  grumbled  Dixie. 

"Very  well,  then,  I'll  send  Smithers  after  him," 
the  sheriff  satirically  chuckled  in  an  ostentatiously 
loud  tone. 

Smithers  heard  his  name  mentioned  and  emerged 
from  the  bliss  in  which  he  was  wallowing. 

"Beg  pawdon,  Mr. — er,  Tom,  were  you  address- 
in' me?" 

"No,  but  I  was  speakin'  o'  you,"  replied  Horton, 
gravely.  "I  said  I  was  thinkin'  o'  appointm*  you 
my  deputy  an'  sendin'  ye  after  a  desperate  charac- 
ter that's  hangin'  'round  town." 

"Thanks,  awfully,  old  chap!  I'll  do  me  duty, 
don'tcher  know!" 

After  this  martial  declaration,  the  Englishman 
resumed  the  less  strenuous  and  more  agreeable  oc- 
cupation of  making  dignified  love  to  Ellen. 

"Lookee  here,  Tom!"  cried  Dixie,  earnestly,  solic- 
itously feeling  of  his  swollen  eye,  "if  that  feller 
'11  apologize  fer  slanderin'  Bob  Parker,  don't  let 
him  git  away !  We  '11  elect  him  mayor  the  next  time ; 
he  could  run  this  little  old  settlement,  hands  down, 
an'  make  it  look  like  a  Sunday  school!  He — " 
His  glance  wandered  up  the  cross-street  and  he 
stopped  short,  his  face  expressing  the  most  profound 
astonishment  and  consternation. 

"Well,  I'll  be  d blowed!"  he  gasped,  helpless- 
ly, his  jaw  slackening  and  his  whole  attitude  sug- 


552  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

gesting  that  of  one  who  is  thoroughly  beaten  and 
completely  discomfited. 

Everybody  looked  in  the  direction  of  Dixie's 
glance  and  saw  a  stranger  coming  toward  the 
square. 

An  instant  later  a  stockily-built,  determined-look- 
ing man  of  middle-age  strode  across  the  intervening 
space  and  aggressively  elbowing  his  way  through 
the  crowd  approached  Horton  and  Parker. 

The  stranger  showed  plain  evidences  of  a  recent 
rough-and-tumble  dispute.  His  clothing  was  torn 
and  soiled,  his  collar  flapping  loose  at  both  ends  and 
his  necktie  shifted  around  under  one  ear.  His  derby 
hat  was  dusty  and  badly  dented  and  he  was  red  and 
perspiring  as  to  face,  but  his  wind  was  still  good 
and,  aside  from  his  disordered  raiment,  he  had  not 
the  slightest  mark  upon  him  to  suggest  that  he  had 
been  man-handled. 

The  onlookers  stared  at  him  with  mingled  curi- 
osity and  amazement. 

He  addressed  himself  to  the  sheriff. 

"I'm  looking  for  a  man  who  calls  himself  Robert 
Parker, ' '  he  announced,  brusquely. 

Parker  instinctively  started  to  step  forward,  but 
he  was  stopped  by  Horton,  who  interposed  his  arm, 
pushed  him  back  and  stepped  directly  in  front  of  him. 

"The  foot-ball  man  has  sobered  up,  all  right!" 
whispered  the  sheriff,  hoarsely,  as  he  passed  his 
friend. 

4 'Who  are  you,  an'  what  d'ye  want  o'  Parker?" 
Horton  sternly  demanded,  his  brow  lowering  and 
his  face  darkening  ominously. 

"My  name's  Williams.  I'm  an  officer  from  Cen- 
tral, New  York  City,"  the  stranger  abruptly  re- 
plied, opening  his  coat  and  displaying  his  badge. 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   553 

I  have  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  one  Eobert  Par- 
kyn,  alias  Robert  Parker." 

"Ye  have,  eh?"  sneered  Horton,  "I  reckon  ye '11 
have  ter  find  him  first. ' ' 

"Sure — that's  what  I'm  here  for,"  replied  the 
detective,  not  in  the  least  abashed_.  "I  understand 
he's  here,  somewhere.  If  he  isn~'t  here,  I'll  look 
elsewhere,  but  I'm  going  to  find  him." 

Just  as  the  determined  man  concluded  this  state- 
ment, Dixie's  posse  of  regulators  rushed  into  the 
square  and  reported  to  the  sheriff. 

' '  That  feller  got  away,  Tom ! ' '  exclaimed  the  lead- 
er of  the  party.  "We  tried  ter— " 

The  speaker  and  his  companions  caught  sight  of 
"Williams  and  were  stricken  dumb  with  amazement. 

"Yes,  I  know  all  about  it,"  said  Horton,  sneering 
sarcastically.  "We've  got  him — I  don't  guess." 

Reverting  to  the  detective  he  queried,  coolly : 

"When  ye  find  Parker,  what  are  ye  goin'  ter  do 
with  him?" 

Miss  Weatherson,  visibly  agitated,  anxiously 
leaned  forward  to  hear  the  detective 's  answer. 

"I'm  going  to  take  him  back  to  Sing  Sing,  to  fin- 
ish a  twenty-year  term  for  murder,"  was  the  calm 
reply. 

Horton 's  hand  dropped  to  his  holster,  where  it 
carelessly  rested  on  the  butt  of  his  .44.  The  men 
standing  ar"ound,  belligerently  began  to  close  in  and, 
following  the  sheriff's  example,  put  their  hands 
to  their  weapons. 

"Noo  York  warrants  don't  go  here.  S'pose  we 
don 't  let  ye  take  him,  what  then  ? ' '  pursued  Horton, 
fondling  his  pistol  butt. 

Williams  understood  and  paled  a  little,  but  un- 
flinchingly faced  the  grim  and  menacing  looks  of  the 
rough-looking  men  who  surrounded  him. 


554  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

"I'll  get  him  all  right — if  I  live,"  he  answered, 
slowly  and  without  a  tremor.  "If  I  don't,  there's 
plenty  more  like  me  where  I  came  from,  and  a  few 
dead  men  more  or  less  don't  count  for  much  in  the 
records  of  the  New  York  police  department." 

Horton  stepped  menacingly  toward  the  detective 
and  the  crowd  murmured  threateningly,  pressing  in 
until  the  officer  scarcely  had  elbow  room. 

He  gave  a  couple  of  shoves  with  his  massive  shoul- 
ders, followed  by  a  vigorous  push  or  two  with  his 
strong  hands  and  cleared  a  space  around  him. 

Horton  stopped  short  but  made  no  move  to  draw 
his  weapon.  The  other  hostiles,  mutely  astonished 
at  the  stranger's  temerity  in  thus  bucking  the  line, 
remained  where  he  had  pushed  them. 

The  detective  looked  them  over  defiantly,  individ- 
ually and  collectively,  for  a  brief  space  and  then 
wrathfully  exploded: 

"You're  a  bunch  of  dead-game  sports — I  don't 
think!  So  this  is  your  western  idea  of  fairness, 
eh?"  he  sneered.  "One  lone  man — a  stranger — is 
only  trying  to  do  his  duty,  and  a  gang  of  you  fellows 
jump  on  him  and  try  to  lock  him  up!  And  now 
you're  ready  to  turn  a  battery  of  artillery  loose  on 
him — God!  but  you're  a  bunch  of  dunghills!  Drop 
your  guns  and  I  '11  lick  any  three  of  you ! ' ' 

His  grey  eyes  snapped  angrily  as  he  pulled  off  his 
coat,  with  apparent  willingness  to  make  good  or 
die  trying — an  act  of  bravery  which  was  not  entirely 
lost  on  the  angry  men  who  surrounded  him,  as  was 
evidenced  by  sundry  gleams  of  admiration  in  the 
eyes  of  some  of  them. 

Swayed  by  a  sudden  uncontrollable  impulse,  Par- 
ker forced  his  way  past  the  sheriff  into  the  center 
of  the  group,  gently  detaching  the  solicitously  re- 
straining hand  that  Miss  Weatherson  laid  upon  his 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   555 

arm.  As  he  passed  Horton  the  young  miner  said 
quietly  in  his  friend's  ear: 

1  'He's  right,  Tom,  and  nobody  knows  it  better 
than  you  do. ' ' 

He  calmly  faced  the  officer. 

"Mr.  Williams,"  he  said,  with  superb  coolness, 
"/am  Robert  Parkyn." 

The  detective  in  a  business-like  way  laid  his  hand 
on  Parker's  shoulder. 

"You  are  my  prisoner,  sir." 

Horton  made  a  move  as  if  to  interfere,  and  several 
of  the  more  excitable  among  the  crowd  drew  their 
guns,  but  Parker  waved  them  aside  with  firm  decis- 
ion. 

"None  of  that,  boys!"  he  commanded,  we're  not 
dunghills,  and  this  man  is  a  thoroughbred — every 
inch  of  him!" 

"  I  'm  mighty  sorry,  sir, ' '  began  Williams, '  *  but — ' ' 

"I  understand;  it's  your  plain  duty,"  gloomily  in- 
terrupted the  prisoner. 

' '  Then  I  '11  not  need  these,  sir, ' '  smiled  the  officer, 
evidently  greatly  relieved,  as  he  displayed  a  pair  of 
handcuffs. 

"No,  you'll  not  need  those  ornaments,  but  I  will 
surrender  only  on  one  condition. ' ' 

"Condition!"  bridled  the  detective,  with  an  ob- 
stinate glint  in  his  eye  and  a  quick  return  of  his 
brusquerie.  "What  condition?  I'm  not  used  to 
making  treaties  with  parties  that  I  do  business 
with." 

Just  at  this  moment  a  dust-covered  horseman  rode 
quietly  into  the  square,  dismounted  and  hitched  his 
jaded,  foam-flecked  mount  in  front  of  the  express 
office.  Miss  Weatherson  from  the  hotel  steps  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  new-comer  and  almost  screamed 
with  joy.  It  was  Dick  Gordon ! 


556  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

The  newspaper  man  caught  the  young  woman's 
eye,  and  with  finger  on  lip  cautioned  her  not  to  betray 
him.  He  then  quietly  slipped  up  to  the  rear  of  the 
gathering,  every  man  of  which  was  too  preoccupied 
with  the  exciting  current  events  to  notice  his  arrival. 

"Then,  Mr.  Williams,  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  make 
an  exception  in  this  case,"  Parker  went  on,  cour- 
teously, but  insistently.  "It  is  absolutely  impera- 
tive that  I  remain  in  Deadwood  thirty  days  longer. ' ' 

"Thirty  days!"  cried  the  officer;  "not  on  your 
life!  I'll— " 

"The  sheriff  will  be  responsible  for  me,"  the 
young  man  interposed. 

"Where  is  the  sheriff?"  demanded  Williams,  ob- 
durately, glaring  defiance  at  the  men  who  surrounded 
him. 

"I'm  the  sheriff,"  responded  Parker,  quietly. 

"What!  You?— You're  the  sheriff?"  gasped  the 
astonished  officer. 

' '  Yes — or  at  least,  I  will  be,  after  tomorrow. ' ' 

"You're  up  against  it,  Mister  Noo  York  sleuth!" 
exclaimed  Horton,  with  a  satisfied  smirk. 

Gordon  elbowed  his  way  to  the  front  and  impu- 
dently grinned  in  the  detective 's  face. 

"You  sure  are  up  against  it,  Williams,"  chuckled 
the  reporter,  gleefully. 

"Dick  Gordon!"  cried  the  detective,  in  amazed 
recognition. 

"Yes,  Dick  Gordon,"  echoed  the  young  fellow, 
"and  butting  into  police  business,  as  usual.  Sorry 
to  have  to  interfere  with  your  lay,  Williams,  old  boy, 
but  you'll  have  to  drop  your  quarry." 

Miss  Weatherson  came  down  the  steps  and  press- 
ing to  her  lover's  side  anxiously  awaited  further  de- 
velopments. She  was  followed  by  Smithers  and 
Ellen,  who  finally  had  awakened  to  a  consciousness 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   557 

of  the  stirring  events  that  were  occurring  and 
emerged  from  their  Eden. 

Gordon,  with  happiness  radiating  from  every 
youthful  feature,  grasped  the  overjoyed  Parker  by 
the  hand  and  pumped  it  like  mad. 

"You  needn't  set  a  time  limit,  Mr.  Parkyn!  Stay 
right  on  the  job!" 

"You  have  good  news?"  tremuously  interjected 
Miss  Weather  son. 

"Yes,  the  best  of  news." 

Parker  grasped  the  correspondent  by  one  shoulder 
and  Horton  by  the  other,  almost  breaking  him  in 
two  in  their  anxiety. 

"Is  everything  all  right,  Gordon?"  they  asked  in 
chorus. 

' '  Sure — and  I  'm  here  with  the  goods, ' '  he  rattled, 
gayly.  "I  found  Pete  Johnson  and  Butch  Harris. 
Butch  is  dying  of  consumption  in  Charity  Hospital — 
on  the  Island.  Stubby  had  been  'pulled'  out  of  the 
pen  about  a  month  before  and  was  back  in  New 
York.  Boss  Hennessy  had  double-crossed  him  in 
some  job  or  other  and  the  Bowery  boy  was  sore  as 
a  boil.  When  I  told  him  that  Butch  was  dying,  he 
came  across  and  told  me  everything  he  knew,  and 
then  went  with  me  to  see  Butch.  Stubby  induced 
the  dying  thug  to  confess  and  he  owned  up  to  killing 
the  Italian  during  that  fight — with  a  shot  intended 
for  Parkyn.  Butch  stated  that  his  own  gun  was  a  .32 
and  that  Bull  Hennessy  had  jobbed  the  doctor  who 
cut  the  ball  out  of  the  dead  man.  The  Boss  having 
got  possession  of  the  .32  ball,  substituted  for  it  the 
.38  that  the  doctor  showed  at  the  trial.  Stubby  and 
I  looked  up  the  county  physician  of  H  .  .  .  Coun- 
ty, and  squeezed  him  like  a  lemon,  getting  a  written 
statement  of  how  Hennessy  bilked  him  into  giving 
up  the  ball  and  handed  him  the  .38  just  before  he 


558  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

went  on  the  stand  to  testify.  The  poor  devil  of  a 
doctor  said  that  he  was  half  full  of  bug-juice  and 
so  frightened  during  the  trial  that  he  couldn't  have 
exposed  the  fraud  if  he  had  tried." 

"What  about  Hennessy?"  Parker  broke  in,  with 
eager  and  hostile  interest. 

"I  faced  him  with  the  evidence,  but  he  was  game 
and  told  me  to  go  to  hell.  I  didn't  want  to  do  that," 
chuckled  Gordon,  "so  I  wrote  up  a  story  for  the 
Herald  and  drove  the  Boss  out  of  town — which,  in 
his  case,  means  off  the  map. 

"Incidentally,"  he  went  on,  laughing  happily,  "the 
old  man  forgave  me,  thanked  me  for  the  scoop  and 
sent  me  back  to  Deadwood  with  his  blessing — and  his 
compliments  to  the  future  bride  and  groom." 

The  reporter  gallantly  bowed  low  to  Miss  Weath- 
erson. 

The  young  woman  blushed  most  becomingly  and 
her  lover  gave  her  a  tender  smile  of  understanding. 

"But  what  about  that  blamed  skunk,  Atherton?" 
demanded  Horton,  vindictively. 

Gordon  laughed  explosively  at  the  amusing  rem- 
iniscence. 

' '  Oh,  I  sicked  his  wife  onto  him — and  that  put  him 
out  of  the  running." 

"What  a  damnable  mess  was  made  out  of  my 
case!"  exclaimed  Parker,  resentfully. 

"Yes,  a  hell's  brew,  for  sure !"  assented  the  corres- 
pondent. "That  lawyer  of  yours  was  a  blithering  ass 
and  the  enemy  was  cunning.  But  you  ought  to  have 
seen  that  rural  State's  Attorney's  expression  when 
I  told  him  the  story  and  asked  to  see  Parkyn's  re- 
volver. Being  a  good  one,  he,  of  course,  had  kept  it. 
I  produced  Butch  Harris '  gun,  which,  even  when  the 
poor  devil  knew  he  had  not  long  to  live,  the  thug 
had  preserved  with  the  proverbial  affection  of  the 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   559 

professional  gun-man  for  the  weapon  that  had  stood 
his  friend  in  need.  When  I  laid  the  two  guns  side 
by  side  on  the  lawyer's  desk  and  read  Butch 's  con- 
fession to  him — to  which,  by  the  way,  the  dying  man 
had  made  affidavit — that  public  prosecutor  looked 
sick,  probably  because  he  regretted  that  his  innocent 
victim  wouldn't  have  to  serve  out  the  rest  of  that 
twenty  years  in  the  pen. ' ' 

''Well,  the  rest  was  easy,"  said  Gordon,  in  con- 
clusion. "I  laid  the  facts  before  the  governor — 
and  here 's  his  answer.  No.  515  has  lost  his  number, 
Mr.  Parkyn." 

He  took  an  official-looking  document  from  his 
pocket  and  handed  it  to  Parkyn. 

The  young  miner  opened  the  paper  and  glanced  at 
it  eagerly. 

"A  pardon!  Thank  God!"  he  cried,  with  a  surge 
of  emotion  that  swept  him  almost  completely  off  his 
feet. 

Miss  Weatherson  threw  herself  into  his  waiting 
arms.  He  clasped  his  loved  one  close  to  his  breast 
and  murmured,  softly : 

"You've  lest  your  jail-bird,  dear,  and,  if  it  is  not 
too  late—" 

She  raised  her  face  to  his,  and  with  a  countenance 
radiant  with  joy  and  tears  of  happiness  flooding  her 
eyes,  she  smiled  up  at  him  tenderly  as  she  whispered : 

"Sweetheart,  it's  not  too  late  and,"  she  added, 
archly,  "I  still  have  my  'Trusty'." 

The  crowd  went  wild  and  whooped  like  a  lot  of 
crazy  Indians.  Inspired  by  the  emotionally  sur- 
charged atmosphere,  even  Smithers  woke  up,  grasp- 
ing Ellen  around  the  waist  and  holding  her  as  if  he 
were  afraid  someone  might  despoil  him  of  his  prize. 

"My  word!"  he  exclaimed,  kissing  her  with  a  re- 


560  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

sounding  smack,  "most  extraor'nary,  really!  Mar- 
vellously clevah  chap,  that  Gordon — very ! ' ' 

Gordon  took  a  paper  from  his  pocket. 

"Here's  something  for  you,  Mr.  Horton,"  he 
shouted,  above  the  din  made  by  the  crowd. 

"What  is  it,  a  newspaper?"  asked  the  sheriff, 
surveying  it  curiously. 

"Yes,  it's  my  pardon,  I  hope,"  smiled  the  cor- 
respondent. "It's  the  'only  genuine  expurgated  edi- 
tion of  the  New  York  Herald.'  ' 

Horton  chuckled  reminiscently  and  took  the  paper. 
As  he  unfolded  it  and  noted  the  pictures  and  glaring 
headlines  of  the  leading  article,  Gordon  said,  slyly: 

"I  hope  you'll  like  the  picture  of  your  friend, 
Parkyn,  alias  Parker,  better  than  the  one  you  con- 
fiscated. Personally,  I  rather  like  Butch  Harris' 
and  Boss  Hennessy's  mugs,  too.  They  add  a  lot  to 
the  story. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Parkyn,"  he  called  to  the  happy 
young  miner,  "your  old  pal,  Stubby,  sent  you  his 
best  regards  and  said  he  was  glad  that  he  changed 
his  mind  about  helping  you  to  clear  yourself.  He 
said,  also,  that  if  ever  you  came  to  New  York  you 
must  be  sure  to  look  him  up.  Williams  and  I  will 
find  him  for  you,  we're  the  greatest  man-finders 
ever, ' '  and  he  grinned  derisively  at  the  detective. 

"Rub  it  in,  Dick,  I  can  stand  it.  Things  look  good 
to  me,"  the  detective  laughed  back,  appreciatively. 

The  crowd  caught  this  remark  and  gave  the  offi- 
cer a  hearty  round  of  applause. 

Mrs.  McGinnis  came  to  the  door,  broom  in  hand, 
and  surveyed  the  noisy  scene.  She  took  in  the  two 
couples  of  lovers,  endeavored  to  speak,  and  ignomin- 
iously  failing  to  find  words  to  express  her  emotions, 
with  a  gesture  of  despair  rushed  wildly  back  into  the 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   561 

hotel,  feebly  waving  her  broom  and  sputtering  like 
a  bunch  of  squibs. 

McGinnis  and  Sam  from  the  veranda  had  been 
absorbedly  interested  in  the  happenings  in  front 
of  the  hotel.  The  Irishman  whispered  to  the  negro, 
who,  comically  showing  his  teeth  and  nodding  his 
comprehension,  poked  his  kinky  black  head  between 
the  bystanders  and  rolled  his  eyes  at  the  detective. 

"Marse  Williams,"  he  said,  with  exaggerated  po- 
liteness, "Marse  McGinnis  'lows  dat  you  all  better 
take  supper  wid  us." 

The  crowd  howled  again  and  Horton  said  blandly. 

"An'  we'd  jest  be  tickled  plumb  ter  death  ter  have 
ye  help  us  initiate  the  new  sheriff  tomorrow,  eh, 
boys?" 

"You  betcha!"  they  shouted,  hospitably. 

"And  we'd  all  be  delighted  to  have  you  remain  in 
Deadwood  for  the  wedding,"  chuckled  Gordon. 

1 1  Is  that  a  '  condition ! '  "  laughed  the  officer. 

"It  is,"  cried  Parkyn  joyously. 

"Then  it's  a  bet!"  exclaimed  Williams. 

On  a  New  York  Central  Pullman  car,  en  route  for 
the  great  metropolis,  sat  Robert  Parkyn  and  his 
bride.  Albany  long  since  had  been  left  behind  and 
the  train  was  following  the  Hudson  on  its  way  to  the 
sea.  As  they  gazed  through  the  window  at  the  en- 
chanting river  and  mountain  scenery  that  flew  swift- 
ly by,  the  couple  sought  each  other's  hands  and 
sighed  contentedly. 

"Sweetheart,"  he  murmured,  "the  dear  old  Hud- 
son looks  mighty  good  to  me,  but  never  again  will 
it  seem  so  wonderful  and  so  alluring  as  it  did  during 
those  awful  days  when  I  was  condemned  to  gaze  at 
that  majestic  river  through  a  network  of  steel.  Jor- 
dan and  the  Promised  Land  never  seemed  so  fair  to 


562  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

the  chosen  people  of  the  Lord  as  did  that  beautiful 
stream  in  those  dark  days.  And  how  kind  those 
waters  were  on  that  fateful  day  last  spring  when  the 
river  received  me  into  its  bosom  and  concealed  me 
from  the  guards  who  sought  my  death!" 

She  looked  up  at  him  understandingly  and  for  a 
long  time  they  sat  in  silence. 

"Josephine,  dear,  we  are  coming  to  the  place 
where  my  hopes  were  buried — and  where  they  were 
re-born,  thanks  to  you,  my  own. ' ' 

He  felt  her  shudder  as  she  recalled  the  fateful 
events  of  that  April  day  only  a  few  short  months 
before,  and  reassuringly  he  passed  his  arm  about  her 
slender  waist  and  drew  her  closer  to  him. 

"We  will  be  past  in  a  moment,  dear,"  he  said 
gently,  "and  then  let  us  forget  it  forever.  I  promise 
you  that  we  never  will  travel  on  this  part  of  the 
Central  again.  It  is  too  severe  an  ordeal  for  both  of 
us." 

As  the  train  whirled  rapidly  by  Sing  Sing,  she 
suddenly  looked  questioningly  into  his  face. 

"Do  you  know  what  day  this  is,  Robert?" 

"Why— it's  Thursday,  the— By  Jove !  it's  Thanks- 
giving, isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  dear,  and  it  needs  no  official  proclamation 
to  make  it  so — for  us.  I  am  not  so  sure  that  I  ought 
to  regard  with  hatred  those  awful  buildings  over 
there,  after  all.  They  have  been  very  useful  to  me ; 
they  have  brought  me  happiness.  They  brought  me 
to  you,  Robert,  and  today  they  make  me  appreciate 
Thanksgiving  as  I  never  before  appreciated  it." 

"Possibly  you  are  more  just  and  more  logical 
than  I,  my  love,"  he  rejoined.  "Will  Carleton  may 
have  been  right  when  he  wrote : 

"  'But  one  thing's  settled  with  me— 
to  appreciate  Heaven  well, 


AN  ELECTION  AND  A  LOST  NUMBER   563 

'Tis  good  for  a  man  to  have 
some  fifteen  minutes  of  Hell.' 

1  'I  had  six  months  of  the  worst  hell  that  man  ever 
invented  for  the  torture  of  his  fellow  man,  and  it 
would  stump  a  greater  poet  than  Carleton  to  express 
my  appreciation  of  the  heaven  that  has  come  to  me. 

"It  is  strange  that  the  drift  of  one's  life  should 
be  so  guided  and  impelled  by  the  currents  of  other 
men's  lives.  Think,  Josephine,  of  what  we  owe  to 
Bull  Hennessy — who  typified  the  political  corruption 
that  sways  the  great  city  towards  which  we  now  are 
hurrying — to  Stubby,  that  outcast  who  was  more 
sinned  against  than  sinning,  and  to  that  grand  old 
man,  Major  Donaldson. 

"I  wonder  where  the  Major  is  now,"  he  mused. 

"He  returned  to  his  old  home  in  Ithaca,"  she  said, 
"where  he  is  trying  to  correct  with  his  pen  the 
same  evils  that  he  so  gallantly  fought  back  yonder. 
You  knew  that  he  lost  his  position  soon  after — ?" 

' '  Yes, ' '  he  interrupted,  quietly,  *  *  I  learned  it  from 
the  papers  before  I  left  New  York,  and  I  often  have 
wondered  if  he  ever  has  been  sorry  that  he  befriend- 
ed me.  I  wish  I  might  see  the  dear  old  man  again 
and  tell  him  how  things  have — " 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his,  in  gentle  interruption. 

"The  Major  never  has  been  sorry,  dearest.  He  has 
said  so — and  he  already  knows.  I  wrote  him  and 
told  him  the  rest  of  your  story." 

"He  is  a  wonderful  man,  Josephine,  and  the  world 
will  appreciate  his  work,  some  day — when  it  loses 
its  smoked  glasses  and  its  eyes  get  used  to  the  light." 

He  was  strangely  quiet  for  a  long  while,  gazing 
out  of  the  window.  Then  he  whispered : 

"How  blessings  and  curses  commingle  in  this 
queer  old  world  of  ours.  This  little  town  through 
which  we  now  are  passing,  was  the  scene  of  that 


564  TRUSTY  FIVE-FIFTEEN 

awful  fight  among  the  laborers,  in  which  I  was 
wounded  and  which  was  responsible  for  what  prom- 
ised to  be  the  complete  wreckage  of  my  life.  And 
yet  it  was  the  beginning  of  the  road  that  led  straight 
to  you,  my  heart 's  desire. ' ' 

She  nestled  beside  him  so  closely  that  the  con- 
ductor, who  just  then  was  passing,  looked  curiously 
at  them,  grinned  in  cordial  sympathy  and  winked 
knowingly  at  a  pleasant-faced,  white-haired  old  cou- 
ple sitting  across  the  aisle,  who  glanced  at  the  pair 
and  smiled  back  at  the  official. 

"  Josephine,  dear,"  he  said,  thoughtfully,  "I  have 
been  wondering  if  our  honeymoon  isn't  likely  to 
change  your  views  of  the  west  and  its  people.  Pos- 
sibly you  may  want  to  remain  permanently  in  the 
east." 

"Never!"  she  replied,  with  convincing  emphasis. 
"We  may  outgrow  Deadwood,  for  no  one  knows  what 
its  future  will  be,  but  I  want  the  free  air,  the  grand 
old  hills  and  the  noble  warm-hearted  men  and  women 
of  the  west — people  who,  as  that  dear  old  Tom 
Horton  would  say,  'will  stand  without  hitchin'  an' 
show  the  right  color  under  the  acid. ' ' ' 

"Well,  little  girl,"  he  said,  patting  her  hand  ap- 
provingly, "you  have  exactly  expressed  my  own  sen- 
timents. I  will  at  once  close  with  those  New  York 
parties  with  whom  I  have  been  corresponding  re- 
garding the  mine.  That  will  settle  the  money  ques- 
tion for  us — for  all  time,  I  hope.  When  our  honey- 
moon is  over  we  will  return  to  the  west,  where  I  will 
serve  those  rough,  honest  people  conscientiously — 
if  not  intelligently.  They  elected  me  Sheriff  in  good 
faith,  and  I'll  not  abuse  their  confidence." 

"Yes,  dear,"  she  murmured,  smiling  dreamily, 
' '  we  will  go  back — home ! ' ' 

THE  END 


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